Where Words Fail: Book 2: Escaping Ba Sing Se
by TEi Has Pants
Summary: The second book in the Where Words Fail series. Smellerbee and Longshot have made it a long way together, but one crucial step still remains before they're truly free: escaping from Ba Sing Se.
1. Book 2, Chapter 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Two: Escaping Ba Sing Se**

**Chapter 1: Thank God this moment's not the last**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-2-1-130463674

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

Longshot waited for the rain to pass before suggesting that they make for actual land. Smellerbee agreed, albeit weakly; she still hadn't really recovered, although she did sleep for most of their stay on the sand bank. It made him just a bit nervous - watching her nod off, right on the sand like that. Only the subtle rising and falling of her chest differentiated Smellerbee of the contemporary from Smellerbee of the previous hour.

Though they still hungered, the water of Lake Laogai - tainted, as it was, by the Dai Li - was fresh enough to drink, and so absolved them of their thirst. Cold, and in its own context, delicious - refreshing. Then again, swamp water would probably have felt just as quenching. Even after a few handfuls of the stuff, Longshot's mouth still tasted like a wasteland. Food could wait just a little bit longer.

When the rain had cleared up enough, and the fog had lifted, Longshot gauged the best place for them to move next; the closest patch shore was a brief swim away, but he would most likely be carrying Smellerbee all the way there. It'd be hard - exhaustion had long since set in, and his clothes were damp and cold and uncomfortable, and despite how warm and balmy it was out here, he had to clench his teeth to keep them from chattering. All he wanted was to sleep - to sleep and sleep and not wake up for days, but he couldn't let his guard down. The Dai Li would have assumed they'd died, so they wouldn't be actively searching for the two Freedom Fighters...but if one of them happened to stumble across them while they were unarmed and vulnerable like this, they'd be easy pickings. Even if it'd be a futile gesture at this point, because it's not like Longshot had the strength to take anybody on.

From the shore, it would be a short hike towards the city (although "short" was an objective term, given Ba Sing Se's grandeur); he wouldn't dare approach the walls spanning in the distance, though, not with Bee in tow. A shallow cave sat in the hillside nearby and didn't seem occupied by any wildlife; they would rest there, and, when his exhaustion passed, Longshot would go out to steal some food.

This time, the irony hit its mark, and Longshot felt a bitter smirk cross his face; they had come to Ba Sing Se in order to abandon that lifestyle, and now that a life of righteousness had gone sour, their "third chance" set them back down the same path they had begun on. As much as he hated the thought of stealing from Earth Kingdom merchants who were, by all means, just trying to make ends' meet as the two Freedom Fighters had been, it wasn't like they could simply go back to living in Ba Sing Se. Not after this. Not after Jet.

No - they had to leave this city of walls and secrets, the last safe-haven for Earth Kingdom refugees. _If_ the Dai Li found out that Longshot and Smellerbee had survived...well, a second encounter (especially with the two Freedom Fighters in their current condition) would end much more decisively. They couldn't go back on the road without supplies or weapons.

"Nnf - ugh. Ow."

Longshot's eyebrows shot up; he cast his attention to Smellerbee, who shifted on the sand, wet and crunching beneath her weight. She flexed her arms, her back, before turning her attention to him, her eyes sunken and bloodshot. She hadn't slept at all, had she?

"Barely. But I feel less dead, so that's a start." She grunted and raised herself on her elbows; Longshot noticed how her back and her hair were plastered down with sand, the granules clinging to her body like a second skin. It'd be a pain getting all of that out.

"You're tellin' me. I got sand in places you don't wanna know about. And I hurt in places I didn't even know I had. This sucks." The ghost of a smirk flittered across her face for a second before turning into a scowl. She turned her attention away from Longshot - staring out, away, over the lake and towards the looming inner wall of the city, looming, imposing in the fog. "We have to go back there. We're not ready to travel like this."

Yeah. He knew.

She pursed her lips, sniffed at the air - smelled like freshly-washed laundry, cleaned in the river cutting through the forest. The rain hadn't abated just yet, though - he felt it in the air. She must have too - her wrists would tell her. At last, she turned her attention back to him and said, "Let's get to shore before the storm kicks back in. I'm tired of being soaked."

He heard her.

Longshot clambered up to his feet, his back protesting with a fierce howl, but - ugh, to _tired_ to care. Sand crunching beneath his boots, he leaned over and slipped one arm under Smellerbee's shoulders, easing her up into a crouch. They lurched, for a moment, and he felt as if gravity would pull the carpet out from under him, sending both Freedom Fighters flip-flopping and crashing again into the sand, burning their flesh, scratching and grating and gnawing. He managed to regain his footing, the toes of his boots plastered with what _could_ have been maple sugar, but he knew better. Sugar would wash off easily.

As he slung her arm over his shoulder, feeling her warmth at his side - even though they were both drenched and frozen - the archer found himself wrought with a mix of emotions. On the one hand, he a wellspring of gratitude and relief that his friend had come back, had not abandoned him to a life of solitude - that they could continue to be Freedom _Fighters_, plural, and that there would still be a person out there who could understand his unique nonverbal language - it swelled up inside him, and if he weren't so empty, he'd probably feel giddy. Their bond had persevered, and Longshot still had his best friend.

Conversely...shame riddled him like a tree full of arrows. He had given up; on her, on himself, because without Smellerbee (and without Jet), Longshot was simply a mute archer who had lost his weapons. What's worse, he had blamed _her_ for her near-death; there was nothing that could have been helped, given their situation. After all, it was Smellerbee who had liberated him from his shackles, Smellerbee who had formulated the plan for escape. Without her, Longshot would probably have suffocated by now. She defined him, shaped him...saved him.

"Hey, Longshot...you okay?"

Bee's voice shook Longshot from his reverie, bringing the lake and surrounding shores back into focus; the archer turned his head slightly, meeting Smellerbee's gaze with one eye. The younger Freedom Fighter - her hair still flat against her head, sand stuck on the back and in her fringe - had both eyebrows raised so that they vanished under her headband, a disquieted frown scrawled on her face. He was tired as all hell and wanted to collapse on the spot, but other than that, he was okay. Why did she ask?

"I - you just don't seem right, is all," Smellerbee replied. Her gaze drifted down to her feet. "You look bummed. Maybe I'm being too paranoid..."

Longshot exhaled through his nose and felt a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth; he placed the fingers of his free hand beneath Smellerbee's chin and turned her head to face him again. The last thing he was, right now - seeing her, having her in his arms - was bereaved. Her standing at his side, talking to him? Blissful. Nothing better in the world.

Bee returned the smile with one of her boyish grins, nodding. "Right. I'm ready when you are."

Longshot nodded and drew his hand away from her face; the two turned towards the water of Lake Laogai again, shimmering silver due to the lingering clouds above. They started walking, the sand shifting under their feet for the first few steps; too soon did it change into a low, quiet splashing noise, and Longshot felt the familiar - now nauseating - sensation of water sloshing into his boots, once again numbing his toes, eliciting a disgruntled grimace from the archer. Maybe he'd take a little bit of time to dry off before returning to the city.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Smellerbee hated sitting by and not doing anything while Longshot did all the work. It made her feel incapable, like he was pampering her. Treating her like a little girl all over again, being overprotective, like he'd done when she was a kid.

Okay, so that wasn't true, because Longshot didn't coddle her anymore (and 'coddle' was a bit too fluffy to describe any aspect of life as a Freedom Fighter), and really - every time she moved, even a little bit, her body would cramp up and split and it'd feel like a mongoose dragon had kicked her in the gut. Even sitting with her back pressed against the rugged wall of the shallow cave they'd claimed for themselves tired her out, and shifting her weight made her stomach burble and growl, nausea threatening to overcome her.

So, she watched, because that was about all she could manage at this point; watched as Longshot picked tufts of tall, dry grass that had grown in the cave's mouth and was sheltered from the rain, watched as he piled it all into a divot in the floor, watched as he slipped a pair of spark rocks out from his pants pocket, as he struck them against each other, as a glowing, tiny flicker of fire began dancing across the grass...

"Where'd you get those spark rocks from, anyway?" Smellerbee asked, a smirk playing across her face. "You didn't say anything about 'em down...down _there_. Are you keeping secrets from me or something?"

Longshot shrugged, a phantom's smile brushing his cheek. Oh, come now...she should know him better than that. Secrets are for people who talk. He didn't keep any skeletons in his closet.

"But you keep spark rocks in your pants."

His eyes wrinkled in the corners - laughing, that subtle, silent laugh of his, and seeing it made Smellerbee's stomach jilt. In a good way, though - because, because it had been _how_ long since she'd seen him laugh? Not since they got onto that ferry, and that felt like...like an eternity ago. A different lifetime.

Hmph. In that context, it made a lot more sense, huh...?

Longshot straightened up from the small grass fire, setting his fists against the small of his back and stretching. Besides, there hadn't been anything flammable down there aside from their clothes...and just striking the spark rocks would have lit up a few feet for a split second. And don't forget that fire sucked more air than Sneers did noodles.

"Good point." The swordswoman brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "If they couldn't find the spark rocks, then it's no wonder they didn't find the pin. Then again...why bother searching dead peasants, right?"

Longshot nodded, turning away from the fire - give him a second, he'd be right back. He saw some sticks outside that would make a good spit - they could hang their clothes up to dry over the fire.

He disappeared around the edge of the cave's mouth, hunting, scavenging...from outside, Smellerbee picked up the sound of rain hissing against the ground, splattering the lake's surface. It wasn't coming down hard yet, but it'd only take a few more minutes to pick back up again. Her wrists still seethed with that dry, razors-across-the-skin feeling, and if she took her gloves off and rolled up her sleeves, she'd see twin red rings on her wrists, about three inches wide. The shackles, stuck to her even now, rain getting caught between metal and flesh, irritating the skin, causing the rash. A lot of Freedom Fighters bore scars from their pasts, all a variety of different natures...mental, physical, emotional, you name it.

She was the only one whose scars faded as soon as the sun shoved away the rain. At least, so far as she knew.

Scuffed footsteps outside - Smellerbee tensed and her hand shot to the small of her back for the dagger that wasn't there, her fingers wrapping around air. Her back and arm hissed at her, her stomach lurching, and ow ow ow that hadn't been a good move, her mouth twisted into a scowl and...

Longshot poked his head around the corner, grinning sheepishly. Sorry about that; there was some tall grass right outside that tripped him up. There was nobody else around. But he did get some sticks!

Smellerbee smirked and rested against the wall again, rough and lumpy and cold at her back and not the least bit comfortable, but it was better than nothing. "Good. I'm tired of being soaked to the bone." She started peeling off her gloves, sucking at her skin, an arduous task made even more obnoxious by stiff, cold fingers that didn't work as well as she wanted 'em to. And - ah - yeah, there we go, the first one finally gave yielded. Grumbling to herself, it didn't need to be such a pain in the ass, she tossed the glove away, landing on the ground with a wet slap, a small explosion of sand bursting from the palm.

...Ugh.

"Okay, maybe we should clean 'em first." She cast a hateful glare at the discarded piece of clothing, irritation dragging tiny, obnoxious claws up her back. A low rumble of thunder rolled out from the distance, and the hissing rain picked up in intensity. "Grrn, I've got all this shit in my hair, too..."

Longshot smirked, crouching over the fire, propping up the two base sticks with some small, round rocks that glistened against the firelight.

"What's so funny?" She snorted.

He kinda figured she'd be pissed about that, and, well, it was a relief. He remembered thinking about it, distantly, when she...

Longshot drifted off and turned his head away, eyes sliding halfway closed, and for a second, Smellerbee picked up...regret? Shame? Hard to tell...and that bothered her. Usually she could read him no problem.

"Hey. Don't worry about it, okay?" She tilted her head to the side and smiled. "Don't make me go over there and punch you in the arm."

A ghostly smirk fluttered across his face. Alright. Only if she promised. He bruised easily.

She chuckled. "Okay, okay. I promise. Now help me get outta these clothes."

He whipped his head up - blushed, eyes wide - and Smellerbee laughed.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Hours later, a drier, sorta-refreshed Longshot stood once again in the lower ring of Ba Sing Se.

He had decided to wait, after all; both Freedom Fighters were equal parts cold, wet and miserable, although the latter had more impact due to the intricate different meanings of the word; miserable because of Jet, miserable because their second chance had been pissed away, miserable because they were tired and hungry (and cold and wet).

Once dusk had settled upon their hiding spot, that's when he headed out; with the cover of night, the Dai Li were less likely to stumble across him. Smellerbee had protested - loudly and virulently - that she should go too, to cover Longshot's back, but the archer simply shook his head and fixed her with a sobering stare. She wouldn't be able to manage such a dangerous mission. Plus, it wasn't like he was helpless.

This had met with a bristling fit of rage on her part. _"Are you tellin' me I'm too weak to fight?"_ She'd howled, her face going red and her mouth curling into a fierce scowl. Despite an imminent threat to his well-being, Longshot gave a sheepish smirk, running his hand through the back of his hair. Of course she was too weak - but not because she was a girl, or young, or any of the usual reasons people would have stuck their foot in their mouth over! She just hadn't recovered. Upon realizing Longshot's true meaning, Smellerbee backed down, but her irritation hadn't vanished; she was frustrated, tired of being unable to help, and even though they'd both managed to get a little sleep, she still hadn't really improved. She had offered him a grudging apology in return, and the argument - short-lived as it was - had brought back some old, dust-laden memories that allowed Longshot to leave the cave in lifted spirits.

Longshot shifted his weight, trying to find a better angle from which to gauge the street in front of him, feeling his tunic settle against his back; while not soaked, the cloth was damp and to a degree uncomfortable. It was a small sacrifice he decided to make, only because lingering any longer than they already had meant more opportunity for the Dai Li to find them again. (Also, they were _hungry_, the sort of _hungry_ where comfort was a cost-effective exchange.) Though night had fallen and the sky hung heavy with storm clouds - again - the streets themselves had been lit up, torches casting an orange, flickering glow beside the doorways of the multi-tiered, dingy apartments that too many people called home. Though not tall, the buildings were clumped so close together as to feel claustrophobic, the narrow streets clogged with detritus and people trying to find their way to their hovels...assuming they had one. It wouldn't surprise Longshot if a lot of refugees simply didn't have a place to live here; no matter how many houses the government crammed into this place, there always seemed to be too many people to live in them. It bred a slew of unpleasant odors...poorly-maintained shops with rotted fish and souring apples, the natural pungency of animal stalls, the overwhelming, gagging body odor from the majority of people here who opted not to bathe...and _dirt_. Even the air reeked of filth and disgust.

Most of these buildings were made of stone, gray and dusty. They appeared second-hand - under the circumstances that the notion even existed (Longshot doubted it). A handful were made of wood - in an enclosed place like this, it was a fire hazard waiting to happen. Regardless of construction, scalloped brown shingles covered the slanted rooftops, a tongue-in-cheek insult to the class of the people living down here. Hell, you couldn't even call it 'living,' really, not so much as it was 'getting by.'

A place like this - it was too stiff, too _normal_. Bland, unappealing, and the fact that there wasn't any overhead cover unnerved him more than it should have. This place was nothing like Hong Ye.

(The forest - Smellerbee's insecurities - a pattern began to formulate in the back of Longshot's mind. All old things, yes - from life before the trip to Ba Sing Se - but something still felt missing about the notion. He pushed it out of his immediate thoughts and tried again to focus on the surrounding area.)

With the torches casting their brilliance along the street, Longshot could make out a few old mercantile stands, as rickety and filthy as the surrounding buildings; to his dismay, all the stands had been closed for the night, and unlike a certain occupied Earth Kingdom town from so long ago, there was no bazaar in the Lower Ring. Longshot drew a deep breath and expelled it through his nose. Damn.

The Lower Ring of Ba Sing Se was reserved for three kinds of people: the poor, criminals, and refugees (the latter of the three, Longshot had noted during his stay here, often went hand-in-hand with one or both of the others). It surprised the archer to see that some merchants even left their stalls out, despite the merchandise and cash boxes being removed; it wouldn't be below some of the seedier types to take the cart and try to sell it off elsewhere.

The thought gave Longshot pause; he'd come into this knowing he'd have to steal from someone, but many of these merchants were no different from himself, Smellerbee and Jet. They were just refugees - trying to find a new life, a safe-haven away from the Fire Nation. Even though money was scarce and living conditions were abominable, it was all they could get. They hadn't truly needed anything else, and neither did these people.

Longshot remembered their too-brief stay with a furrowed brow. Uncomfortable sleeping arrangements in a drafty, claustrophobic room - between the three of them, before Jet had gotten taken prisoner by the Dai Li, there was only one bed with a creaky frame and a lumpy, hard mattress, and a rickety wooden chair that felt about ready to fall apart, no matter how tenderly he sat down in it. He half-wished he was still that person, immersed in becoming normal, forgetting the Freedom Fighters, the forest, Smellerbee's ragers - that the wool was still over his eyes, that he was still safe in this behemoth dystopia controlled by Long Feng and secret police.

The rest of him, though...it was hard to believe he'd even started that metamorphosis. This place wasn't home any more than any camp site while on the road; they'd slept here, ate here, and worked here (which could be equated to hunting, breaking camp, maintaining supplies, and so on). The longer he walked through these streets, the more alien it felt. There was nothing _natural_ about the place, and free speech was nothing but a very exclusive privilege. Longshot missed the golden bark of the trees, the crimson-colored leaves sighing in the wind...the scents of honey or cinnamon or something delicious that couldn't quite be placed wafting on the air. Moving on the boughs, using ziplines to get from one place to the next...

The pattern he'd noticed earlier started taking a more definite form, and Longshot felt his chest tightening a bit. Brushing past a stooped man with bushy, graying eyebrows, the archer tried to put a finger on the sensation - but it wriggled away, staying just out of grasp, a bit of the past obscured by the present, by the stench of unbathed refugees and the bustling, shuffling, chattering cacophony jamming the air up.

There was no point - no moral alignment, no way to justify himself - to resupplying from anyone in the Lower Ring; he may as well have stolen a dumpling from Smellerbee's plate, a coy, teasing tradition from the forest (that place again) that had not transited to here, because food was too scarce and the money to pay for it even moreso. That left the Middle Ring and the Upper Ring; if what he'd heard from his time in the Lower Ring had any accuracy, the Middle Ring was clogged with businessmen and government officials, while the Upper Ring had all the rich bastards in the world, who had too much money or status for their own good.

Longshot ducked back in between two apartment buildings as they passed by, lowering his head. Turning, marching north, boots scraping the stone and dirt, he weighed his options: the Middle Ring would have what they needed, but probably wouldn't have any easily-accessible supplies. They'd close down once the night fell, just as the Lower Ring - the lifestyle of government workers given form. The Upper Ring would likely have better supplies that were more accessible, but it was also more likely to have Dai Li patrolling the area...not like they weren't down here, either, as Longshot had seen them around before the thing with Lake Laogai, but with so many snobbish, fat, lazy people of high import in one area, policing them would take priority.

Kinda backwards if you asked him. You'd figure the bigger, crime-ridden part of the city would have been more important to keep in order.

He allowed himself a small shrug and reached up towards his head - adjusting the brim of his hat, out of habit, only remembering that the Dai Li had knocked it off once his fingers pinched the air. He sighed, and shook his head; it'd be best not to linger. Upper Ring shops would be open and supplied, and he had to take that chance.

It'd be a long walk.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Smellerbee snorted and stared into the crackling flames, her arm propped up on one knee. Its heat splashed her bare legs, torso and arms, washing up against her like waves of the ocean...only not as soggy. And more comforting. And you couldn't drown in it.

"Blech." She made a face at the fire, poking her tongue out. The orange, flickering light cast its glow across Smellerbee, the cave's walls, and her clothes - which hung suspended from makeshift spit Longshot had put together. What wouldn't stay on the spit had been set next to the fire, including her gloves, headband, and all the other little this-and-thats that made up her armor. There wasn't a whole lot of that left now.

Before - in the forest - Smellerbee had never had a problem bathing with other Freedom Fighters. It didn't matter that she lacked the laughable, awkward appendage that some of the others had; she was still One Of The Guys, and even then there were just too many Freedom Fighters and not enough hours in the day. None of the core group ogled her, made her feel like she didn't belong...aside from The Duke when he'd first joined, who, for all his book-smarts, had been too young to know better - something Smellerbee would later confirm when she and Jet had to awkwardly explain where babies came from (which Jet had laughingly dubbed "The Birds and the Smellerbees;" he'd earned himself a good punch in the arm for that one). In return, she pretended not to notice the way their muscles would ripple when they moved, and the way that some of the Freedom Fighters were, ah, appreciatively _bigger_ than others.

Even so...something had felt a little awkward here - with Longshot, and nobody else. Sure, she'd been half-teasing him when telling him to help her strip down, but - that process, then going back out to the lake in the middle of the rain, with him, both naked, to wash away the sand...with just him, the entire experience felt more intimate than it ought to have been. Thoughts like that had never crossed her mind in the forest; one simply had to bathe, and there wasn't enough time for her to go separately from the others. As she and Longshot had sat in the cave with nothing on but skin, their backs respectfully turned to one-another, the cave's cool, dirt floor at her butt, she couldn't help but feel a heat in her cheeks that didn't come from the fire.

Alone now, Smellerbee snorted and pursed her lips. "Okay, clothes. How dry are you?" Climbing up onto her knees, her strength slowly but steadily returning in no small part to actually getting a few hours' sleep, she reached up with a long, skinny arm, pinching the fabric of her shirt between her fingers; while it had dried out considerably, the cloth was still just a little too damp for her to deem wearable. The more she prolonged getting wet again, the better. She scowled and plopped back down into a sitting position, staring out into the night sky beyond the cave's mouth.

With rain forthcoming, it came as no surprise that the sky above Lake Laogai had turned an angry, enraged black, pregnant with the storm it begged to unleash. The lake itself reflected this bestial hatred, appearing as a great abyss that swallowed up the land if it dared dip too far downward. Smellerbee heard the waves lapping against the shore, as well as a breeze whispering by the cave's mouth; in the distance, the great wall of Ba Sing Se rose up, swallowed only partially by the gloom - a massive fortress meant to keep intruders out, and prisoners in.

Grunting, Smellerbee clambered to her feet. After wrestling with her equilibrium, during which she almost stumbled and fell down on her stomach, she planted a hand on the mossy wall of the cave to maintain balance. She shuffled towards the cave's mouth - her stomach would protest with a discomforting animosity if she tried moving at any faster of a pace - her hair hugging against the sides of her head, the ground rugged and cold and dry under the soles of her feet. While the cave was shallow and the trip only took about twenty seconds, it may as well have been an eternity; she was used to moving and moving _fast_, dammit. This was nothing more than a pain in the ass.

At least you can move, Smellerbee. Chiding herself, the young Freedom Fighter shook her head and continued onward. Finally reaching the edge of her temporary sanctuary - being able to see the lake and shore and walls with more clarity - Smellerbee's thoughts started to drift. The fire's heat licked at her back, but the distance between her and it reduced the comforting warmth to a flickering memory. Another breeze whistled past, and without the protection of the cave, it scraped Smellerbee's skin raw, making her shiver.

"Damn you, Jet," she muttered, staring out over the lake's surface. Her voice didn't carry - swallowed up by the wind. The onyx surface of Lake Laogai didn't yield any comfort. "We were so close. But you couldn't give it up, could you...?"

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

Frigga frazza fergen derglers...Smellerbee cradled one hand in the other, a gauze bandage wrapped around it, her mouth curled down into a scowl. Stupid job. Stupid dishes. Stupid _broken_ dishes scattering all over the stupid place, cutting her stupid hand and stupid stupid stupid stupid. A small, crimson stain seeped through it at the base of her thumb - it was a small wound, it'd heal up in a few days, but there'd been enough blood that the gauze wrap had been necessary, and now the entire washroom had splatters of crimson on the floor, the counters, that darkened even now, even as she and Longshot marched away from the stupid kitchen with the stupid people and the stupid manager and _argh_. It still _stung_, in no small part due to the alcohol Longshot had poured into the opening. She hissed and glared at her hand as if it had personally betrayed her. "Just so you know, Ms. Lefty, I blame _you_ for all this," she growled to it.

Heh. Longshot's mouth quirked beside her, keeping his attention focused on the street; people milled around, going from one place to another, their exact destinations unimportant to everyone but themselves; their feet, booted or covered in flimsy leather but mostly bare, scuffed against the ground, and the place _stunk_ to high heaven and back again. Didn't people of the Lower Ring bathe? Granted, the dingy apartment she shared with Longshot and Jet didn't have a wash basin of any sort, so they had to take turns using buckets of ice-cold, grungy water and cloths stained brown from constant use...but the effort was there, at least. Hygiene completely escaped most of these people, and _she_ had grown up in a forest full of other children. (Momma Marlin was the oldest of the lot, and even she didn't pass _too much_ for an adult.) Cleanliness had just formed as a matter of habit amongst the majority of Freedom Fighters, though watching Skillet trying to wrangle Mortar or Telltale into the lake never stopped being funny...

With the sun hovering in the sky, sinking gradually towards the horizon at their backs, the streets were bright enough for them to navigate without trouble. The Lower Ring was a freaking _maze_ of people and rickety stalls and filthy, fourth-rate buildings and stink and _stupid_, and it didn't matter if she had been the best tracker the Freedom Fighters had, finding their apartment was nothing but an awkward nightmare. The kitchen they slaved in, standing on their feet for hours, until every muscle burned from misuse, earning a pittance and nothing more, ought to have been a fifteen minute walk away from where they lived, but the damn streets twisted and turned and twisted again, so much, so frequently, that they'd had to set out half an hour early over the last four days to get there in time. The pair were lucky enough to have found the job in the first place, and though their manager was a nice enough guy, they didn't want to give him any reason to fire them. Especially since there were plenty of other refugees seeking work here.

Bee...if she really wanted, they could always go topside...find their way from the rooftops. Longshot gave her a sidelong glance, hiking one eyebrow. It'd take even less time than it was supposed to - cut a straight line from point A to point B, you know? It'd be a lot easier, too - just pick a direction and set a certain distance.

"Hmm..." Smellerbee craned her head back - glancing up, to the silhouetted apartments, masked by the sun in the distance. Roof-topping it...? It was actually pretty tempting - tantalizing even, she could see herself doing it - running, leaping from one building to the next, crouched down, wind at her face, hair thrown back, breath hot and heavy and pulse hammering in her chest, her ears, ecstatic, _electric_...but. Something about that didn't feel right - like this place didn't give her even the remotest amount of context for that. Like it was taboo.

She sighed and shook her head. "No...we shouldn't. We're done with living like that." Smellerbee pulled a face and stuck out her tongue. "Feh. We never hadda worry about that sorta thing in the forest. I call bullshit."

The forest. Not home, not anymore. Just a thing of the past, something that, a few years from now, would become dusty and ashen and burnt at the fringes, just like every memory. The forest was the place for running, jumping, moving without restrictions, finding even the simplest freedom in that sort of thing.

Ba Sing Se sucked...but _this_ was home now, and at least they were safe.

Longshot didn't reply; instead, they carried on in silence, boots shuffling the ground, kicking up dust, worming around and between people without the common decency to take care of their bodies, the stench oppressive and stifling and suffocating. It took a few wrong streets, missed turns, and a couple points where they had absolutely _no_ idea where they were supposed to go, but eventually they found their new living space - one apartment set in the ground floor of a ramshackle cluster (they were _all_ ramshackle, but theirs seemed especially so), stacked three houses high. A small courtyard had been situated in the center of the property, giving the building a blocky C-shaped structure, cluttered with peoples' discarded food and half-finished masonry. Coming back here always left the smell of dust and mildew in the back of her throat.

Yeah, home.

She hated it here.

"So, how much you wanna bet Jet _still_ hasn't gone out to find work...?" Smellerbee murmured, rolling her eyes. "He's so hung up about Lee and his uncle."

Well, maybe he went out to do some surveillance. Longshot shook his head and thumbed the brim of his hat back, arching his eyebrows. The pair stopped at the door, and the archer slid it open; it was nothing more than rickety wood cobbled together slipshod, and it made a hollow rattle as it hit came to a stop. The two Freedom Fighters - that term was so ill-fit now, since a pair of wage slaves and nothing more hardly fought for _any_ sort of freedom (aside from the prospect of liberty from poverty, a lofty goal indeed but lacking a greater meaning) - crossed into the gloom beyond. None of the candles had been lit and all the window blinds had been drawn shut. What meager furnishings they had (a lumpy old bed, a rickety chair that could barely hold _her_ weight, let alone Longshot or Jet's, a haggard night stand barren of decoration) soaked in the shade, looming reminders of what they'd chosen for themselves...and what they'd left behind.

"He probably did," Smellerbee murmured, sliding the door closed behind them. "He doesn't realize how bad this could be. Making waves after we've come this far - you'd think he'd learned _anything_ from the dam! He's lucky the Avatar didn't, jeez, I dunno - air slice him in two or something."

Aang didn't seem like the person to do that sort of thing.

"It doesn't matter - if he didn't do it, then Ponytail or the floozy could have done the job for him. Or they could'a sicced their bison on him. The point is, we have a good thing going here, and if he doesn't pull his head outta his ass - "

"What happens if I don't pull my head outta my ass?"

Erk.

Jet stepped out of the shabby closet situated beside the bed, boots clopping against the wooden floor (he didn't drag his feet like so many people on the streets did), his mouth set into a straight line, eyes narrowed.

"Um, Jet, I - " Smellerbee's chest tightened, and, oh man, he wasn't supposed to be here! What was he doing, lurking around with the lights out like this - spying on them? Cheeks hot, ears alight with an insatiable itch she didn't dare scratch, she cast a quick glance to Longshot, but the archer had his gaze affixed to their leader. Turning back to Jet, she said, "We didn't know you were here, we figured you'd be - "

"Out. I know." Ouch. His voice had that sheen of ice it took whenever any Freedom Fighter had earned his personal ire - the kind where he knew he was right and you were wrong, and standing against him cut him to the quick. His wheat stalk curled down, and suddenly, the must and grime of the apartment closed in on her, clogging her nose, making her throat thick and hot. "But where have _you_ guys been? I need a little help - Lee and the old man work erratic hours at that tea shop, and I haven't been able to find where they live."

This time, Smellerbee felt Longshot's eyes on her; she turned to meet it, saw the ghost of a grimace pulling on his lips. What do they say...?

"The truth," the swordswoman murmured. She looked back at Jet, his mouth curling down - he was getting impatient. "We've been at work! You know, the whole thing about a fresh start? This place isn't gonna pay for itself, and we can't steal food to get by anymore. We're trying to go straight - to do things right. If anything, we need your help more - with what we're making, Longshot and I can barely keep up with our expenses! Jet, you gotta pitch in. We've come this far together; can't you turn a blind eye, for our sake if nothing else?"

Jet scowled, bared his teeth - a white crescent carved into his tan face. "That's not important! There's Fire Nation in Ba Sing Se. People are supposed to be safe here, and they don't realize that the enemy is right under their noses!"

"Because they don't _care_!" Smellerbee threw her arms up. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lee and Mushi are here for a second chance, too? Come on, Jet, if we go out now, I'm sure we can find a job for you."

Jet's eyes glossed over for a second - and Smellerbee swore they oozed venom for the briefest of moments, at _her_ - but the sensation quickly passed, and Jet hung his head, raising his hands up into the air. "Okay. Okay, you're right. I'm sorry. I should've been paying more attention to what's going on here." He brought his gaze back up to her, and it had softened - warm, the same way he _should_ look in the presence of his friends...natural. He approached the swordswoman and archer, slipping his thumbs into his sash - and, and he must have spotted the bandage on her hand, because his brow furrowed, frown pulling down on his lips. "You okay?"

Oooh that _jerk_. He hadn't need to say anything, but Smellerbee knew what he'd implied. Idiot automatically thought the Fire Nation was behind _everything_ now, and he'd defaulted back to the protective older brother routine - something Smellerbee hadn't had to seriously endure since she was eight. That was alright, though. She knew how to volley this.

"Yeah, fine," she responded, shrugging - nonchalant. "I dropped a plate at work and cut myself picking up the pieces."

He nodded - believed her, she could tell, but the niggling doubt still lingered in the back of his mind. It musta been like a whispering child tugging at the back of his tunic; he could ignore it, but it was still present, and it'd seep into his thoughts no matter what. "You guys had a long day - don't worry about me. I heard there's a shipping depot that could use a hired hand."

With that, he was past them, out the house, gone - and Smellerbee sighed.

"He's not going to apply for it," she murmured.

No. He wasn't. Longshot laid a hand on her shoulder, fingers tightening against her shirt. Don't worry about him. They'll find some way to get him in line.

"Yeah...maybe next time we should just be more assertive."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

Only they hadn't been. The next time they found him, it was in that alley, in front of the tea shop where the two supposed Firebenders had been working, and they'd attempted to talk Jet out of it...but in the end, they only pushed him more. As if their protests had isolated him, made him feel like he was alone, and that it was up to him to reveal the truth.

In essence, all of that was right. In deciding to turn away, Smellerbee and Longshot _had_ abandoned. That didn't mean he had to pursue the matter - he could have walked away, and let everyone carry on with their lives. Then stupid Jet got arrested by the stupid Dai Li and she and Longshot had to go to their stupid job and barely keep up with their stupid necessities.

They didn't see him again for two weeks - and their reunion would be short and bittersweet. If Smellerbee had known that the tea shop thing would be the last time she would get to speak to him so explicitly - if she'd just tried a little harder to get him to turn away from Lee and Mushi - then perhaps he wouldn't have died, and the three of them would continue to go on forging a new life for themselves.

"Stupid, stupid Jet." Smellerbee hung her head. She turned and made her way back to the rear of the cave - back towards the flickering orange heat, back to the warmth and safety.


	2. Book 2, Chapter 2

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book 2: Escaping Ba Sing Se**

**Chapter 2: I lie, I cheat, I steal**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-2-2-131293288

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

It took about an hour to get into the Upper Ring; keeping to the rooftops, Longshot moved as silently as he spoke from one to the next, making sure not to draw attention to himself. The action - moving, jumping, running, wind at his face, pulse hammering, legs pumping, muscles burning - it was like returning home. The only thing that was really missing from the scene was a lack of cover overhead; despite every other conceivable flaw of trees growing out of houses, it was the one fault he wished could be corrected. Even though he only needed cover from the street level, he still felt exposed without something hiding him from above.

He was actually quite proud of himself; huge, cream-colored stone walls separated each Ring from the others beside it, and Earth Kingdom soldiers - not necessarily members of the Dai Li, although they were up here too - constantly patrolled the walls themselves, walking tight paths carved into the tops, broad walkways with waist-high walls bordering either side. Sneaking by unseen had been one matter, but he wouldn't be able to scale the walls due to the amount of soldiers on duty. He had instead scuttled through the dark, musty tunnels running through the walls, which was normally used for the Earthbender trolleys to pass through. Even though cold, iron gates had closed up over most of the entrance into the tunnel, there was a gap large enough near the top for him to climb through, and with room to spare. After repeating the process a second time, Longshot had finally found himself in the Upper Ring.

Crouched down on a sloped roof of one of the buildings, the archer took in the heart of the city with wide eyes. The Upper Ring of Ba Sing Se was...spacious. And clean, and fancy...individual homes sat on well-kept, green-grassed lawns, complete with stone walkways leading up to the front doors; shrubbery could be seen artfully arranged on each property, and some houses even had water fountains - _big_ ones - situated somewhere near the buildings. Each house had been cleaned so efficiently that the walls were a brilliant, almost shining white color even under the moonless sky - and the archer doubted the homeowners maintained that level of sheen by themselves. The rooftops were more intricately designed, too; brilliant, forest green tiles interlaced with golden highlights, fawning out to form eaves that hung over every wall of the house below it. Most had a ridge running along the center of the roof, decorated with lines of gold paint.

The very streets glowed with an obnoxious, gaudy bloom - lanterns strung up along the streets, each one holding one of those illuminated crystals, the kind that had been buried with him and Smellerbee under Lake Laogai. People bustled all around, chattering, laughing - enjoying a lush, pampered lifestyle only these wealthy parasites could afford living. Their exact numbers were too high for Longshot to accurately count - too many bodies, too many people, too _disgusting_. The air felt just as hot and oppressing up in this place as it did down in the Lower Ring, the only difference between there and here was that the Upper Ring's citizens bathed. Still - their stink was one-hundred percent interior, where only the perceptive would be able to smell it.

Their pomp, their ignorance, genuinely irritated the archer; they were completely oblivious to life beyond the Upper Ring. They had no _idea_ what it was like to live in poverty, to have to work for hours on end, cleaning dishes 'til your fingers cracked and bled, cleaning animal dung, servicing customers that didn't always have the means to pay for the meal you just set on their table, earning a pittance, pocket change, less than enough to serve their needs and never getting any more than that. They just - they had everything _handed_ to them. They took no risks, they turned their noses up at people they deemed their lessers, and, and, their sheer _phoniness_ scrawled up his spine, digging between his shoulder blades, making him clench his teeth.

Longshot frowned and cast an experimental glance over one shoulder; the other Rings of the city sprawled out behind him, growing ever more chaotic as the distance between them and the Upper Ring increased. They hadn't vanished, like he half-expected them to; crouching on the rooftops here, now, felt like he had entered an entirely different world. He hadn't; the ghetto of the Lower Ring still sprawled out there, a crescent moon of maddening pandemonium and chaos, separated by the stone walls running within the city.

Each individual house in the Upper Ring was larger than a single apartment cluster from the Lower Ring, and they didn't even have the benefit of lawns. So many people and homes had been crammed together down there that it was a miracle anyone could even breathe...here, the wealthy and reputable lived in proprietal bliss, as if whatever happened beyond these walls was mere folklore - something to scare their children with. Instead of bogeymen and mischievous Spirits, it was a life of living in shabby humility, sleeping in dirt and with your back to the wall, one eye open so as to not get shanked at night. They might even be forced to miss a meal, heaven forbid - Spirits only knew how many he and Smellerbee had to forgo in the two weeks Jet had been gone (but hunger was no stranger to Freedom Fighters, after all). One of these spoiled children wouldn't be able to handle the rumbling belly, how your throat tingled and tightened, how you wished you could will your stomach to throw itself up, only so you could eat it again and not have to worry for another couple hours.

Then again...Ba Sing Se was a fortress of ignorance. Most of these people didn't know about the dystopia, and talking about the war against the Fire Nation was forbidden within the walls - they'd learned about _that_ the hard way. While these people squandered their riches, their neighbors suffered and struggled to get by on less-than-ends' meet.

No, Longshot would not suffer any sort of conflict in stealing from these people. They were just like the Fire Nation - taking, taking, taking, _never_ giving, blind to their arrogance and the suffering of those just out of earshot. He hunkered down behind the ridge of the house he'd climbed on top of; the scent of food danced through the air, meat and fresh bread and delectable veggies, and he couldn't be _that_ many rooftops away from a bazaar.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Another stark difference between the Upper and Lower Rings of Ba Sing Se was that the Upper Ring had a nightlife; people milling about, enjoying the weather, each others' company, fine foods, parties...having fun. It didn't much matter that a storm still lingered _somewhere_ overhead, he figured, even though it had let up for a while. In the Lower Ring, people would be out late at night, sure...but enjoying themselves was rarely the cause for such occasions. Seedy alleyway deals for sub par weaponry or black market trading were the leading reasons...and, much as he hated to stereotype, the crime rate jumped a significant amount when the sun set.

Barging into a tea shop to cause trouble was another one, but thinking about Jet now wouldn't do Longshot any good. He pushed the image of his leader and best friend's back walking away from his Freedom Fighters out of his mind.

Below him, the street had opened up into a bloated, circular plaza; brilliant, multicolored lanterns, not just jasmine green, hung from ropes dangled above those teeming through the area. A grand, marble water fountain - complete with an elaborate flowing design that reminded Longshot of a pagoda - acted as a navel to the place, resting in the very center and reaching up for the sky. Buildings on all sides remained open, serving food, selling goods, while mercantile stands had been set up against any available wall space. The buzzing of dozens of people talking all at once filled his ears, and the smell - oh Spirits, the _smell_ - of freshly-cooked octoseals wafted up into his nostrils. His mouth started to water, and his stomach growled a fierce agreement.

Longshot closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath - intentionally through the mouth - to try and reset his focus. Weapons first, food second...and no eating any of it until he could sit down with Smellerbee.

The still-damp, starving archer spider snake-crawled backwards, eventually dangling off the eave of the restaurant he'd been hiding on before dropping down to the ground. He landed in a crouch, his legs planted apart and one hand set into the ground; the grass cushioned the noise enough for him to make a stealth landing.

Standing back upright, Longshot brushed the front of his tunic off; he knew that, with wrinkled, dirty clothes and his sallow, starved appearance, he wouldn't blend in _perfectly_ with the crowd of aristocrats in the plaza. At least the teen knew how to avoid drawing attention to himself; years of lurking in trees before and during Fire Nation raids, going undetected, would help him even in this crowded, open place.

A forlorn hand drifted up to the space in front of his forehead, and he sighed; it would have been a bit easier if he had his hat, and if nothing else, he appreciated the comfort the item had provided. Its wide brim would have allowed him to keep his eyes obscured, at least, preventing anyone from attempting eye contact. Oh well.

Steeling himself - and ignoring the temptation of steamed vegetables, which taunted his nose with its alluring scent from the restaurant he'd just departed - Longshot squared his shoulders and squirmed out between two merchant stands, into the thick of the crowd.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

It only took five minutes for Longshot to realize that he needed to rethink his strategy. Grimacing, he cast a quick glance to either side; stalls selling armor and weapons stood to his left and right, but they weren't the same kind of stalls found in poorer cities (or in the Lower Ring). These stalls weren't just carts; they were entire wagons, with doors on the sides that could be opened upward, revealing a counter which the merchant stood behind, their goods on a display rack behind them. It was the counter that screwed everything up; distracting the merchant wouldn't be a problem, but then reaching in and grabbing what he needed without being noticed...? Next to impossible with the way these stalls were set up.

That left two options: either blatantly steal what he needed while making no attempts to cover his tracks, or search for an aristocrat who was feeling too cocky to tuck their money pouch into their robes. While barging headfirst into the situation sounded exhilarating, it simply wasn't his style; that was more of a Pipsqueak-and-Jet thing, and Longshot wanted to avoid having the Dai Li called down on him prematurely if he could avoid it. Though while he wasn't the best pickpocket the Freedom Fighters had (a title Smellerbee rightfully had possession of), he could be pretty nimble-fingered when it came right down to it; with the wealthy bustling all around him, bumping into him with nary a grunt of apology, it wasn't like there would be a shortage of opportunity. It was just a matter of waiting for the right person to come by.

Longshot bowed his head forward and closed his eyes, letting snippets of conversations waft across the air and flow into his ears. He wouldn't need to look around until the right tone of voice cut through the buzzing din, accompanied by the muffled sound of jingling metal - coins in a money pouch, dangling unprotected from somebody's belt. He again found himself pining for his hat; it'd have given him a sensation of solitude, because being stuck in a throng of fops this thick had already become stifling and intolerable.

"...and Mian Gou said, 'well my husband at least knows how to bathe...'"

"...what am I going to do with an extra million in Earth Kingdom coins?..."

"...begging me for spare change! I didn't have any small coins, and it's not like I could part ways with anything large...'

"...offer a man his own tea shop in the Upper Ring, and he vanishes barely after it opens! It's infuriating!"

There - that one. Longshot opened his left eye to see a tall man wearing lime-colored robes with ochre highlights and white sleeves approaching. He stood a little taller than Longshot himself, and he was built like a man who kept himself in shape, but did not exert the proper effort into truly working out. He had at least one gaudy, jewel-encrusted ring on each finger, and wore his hair slicked backwards with a well-kept beard running along his jaw line. Judging by the lines creasing his face, the man was in his late thirties or forties; he held a glass in one hand - full of liquor, maybe? - and had a young floozy hanging off each arm, giggling and smiling at every other word out of the man's mouth. She had to have been half the man's age.

And at the aristocrat's belt - a money pouch, left untended in his ignorance. Judging by the size of the green-dyed leather skin, there would be more than enough coin for Longshot to buy what they needed, and still have some left over for their upcoming journey. Allowing himself a grim nod, Longshot bowed his head down again and wormed through the crowd towards the man.

"...I mean - you'd think that any pissant from the Lower Ring would lunge at the opportunity to work here. I invested a lot of money, and the man's tea was fantastic; it would have to be, in order for word to reach the Upper Ring from that broken-down shop. I'll be damned if anyone wants to go to the Jasmine Dragon anymore without...oh, what the hell was his name...Mushy, or something weird like that."

Longshot considered himself very, very fortunate to bump into the man as that last bit cropped up in his conversation; he stumbled, fell, and spared himself the shock of freezing up and missing his opportunity. The man stumbled back as well, but managed to retain his balance, glaring down at the archer with aged, harassed eyes. Had he just said 'Mushi?' Mushi, the old man from the ferry, from the tea shop - the one Jet supposedly saw Firebending his tea before getting on the trolley into Ba Sing Se? Mushi was hardly a rare name, but the inclusion of not one, but _two_ tea shops in the same context left little to be imagined. That couldn't be a coincidence.

"Tch." Through the sudden haze of buzzing thoughts, the archer heard the floozy verbalizing her scorn, proving she had enough brains inside that airy head of hers to form full sentences. She turned her head and glared at Longshot with disdain clear in her eyes. "Since when do, like, street trash venture up from the sewer?"

"Maybe they're leading by example," the man growled. Okay - worry about the old man from the ferry later; there was more important business to take care of. Longshot looked up at him, pleadingly, doing his best to look apologetic; eyes wide with a glossy sheen, lower lip slightly jutted out, the Freedom Fighter very awkwardly climbed up to his feet. When one didn't speak, and needed to get a message across to a stranger, over-acting usually influenced their first impression (though he'd be lying if he said Smellerbee hadn't taught him a thing or two on the art - she could fix anyone with the most adorable puppy dog eyes in the world and more often than not got away with things that would have gotten anyone else in trouble with Jet). He felt his hands start to tremble - a nice touch, although he had the hunger and the teasing scent of fresh food to thank for that.

"Well, boy? Are you going to apologize?" The man's voice remained low, but carried a razor's edge to it. Clearly, the mess with the tea shop had put him at the end of his rope, but the day Longshot truly feared a man who displayed his wealth on his knuckles was the day he was too old to fight back against him if he took a swing. "You look filthy. Spirits only know what disease you brought up from the rat hole you crawled out of, and it's all over my robes now."

Longshot responded by raising a trembling hand up towards his throat - a slow, intentional movement that ended with his fingers coming to a rest just beneath his adams' apple. This elicited a snort of disproval from the man and a gagging noise from the Elbow Leech.

"Mute. Probably simple, too." The man's tone became snotty and pretentious again, the comment cast none-too-subtly to his floozy. Longshot pretended not to notice and continued looking like a kicked fox puppy, begging in his silent way to be pardoned. Following his crass remark, the man addressed Longshot again, as an adult would to a toddler just learning to speak. "I don't know how you got out here without your mommy and daddy, but perhaps it's best you stop bothering the good folk up here. Go home, child, and be sure not to spread your filth with anyone else."

Longshot gave a quick, fervent nod and pushed past the man, delving back into the crowd of people. The archer could hear the man utter one last obscenity about the trash from the Lower Ring as he walked away; Longshot simply narrowed his eyes and allowed himself a small, victorious smirk, withdrawing from his tunic the swollen leather pouch of coins, tossing it up into the air before catching it again.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

The first thing Longshot treated himself to in the busy Upper Ring market place was a new hat.

Of course, he meant the word 'new' in a very figurative sense; it was certainly new to him, as in, it had only recently entered his possession, but the hat itself looked quite old and dusty when the vendor pulled it from the display rack behind him. It had clearly seen better days, as the brim had suffered a few splits in the straw, and the ends of the cloth straps that Longshot would tie underneath his chin had frayed and yellowed. But that was perfectly fine with him; he preferred his hats to be vintage, to possess that touch of antiquity.

Haggling for the hat turned into a profitable venture as well; the vendor's initial request of ten gold pieces for the ragtag headpiece had been successfully bargained down to two copper pieces, leaving Longshot with a fuller wallet and no longer suffering from the niggling, demi-agoraphobia that had been gnawing at his shoulders.

As he walked towards the nearest arms' vendor, Longshot tied the cloth strips beneath his chin, the frayed parts tickling his bare fingertips. With the knot held firmly in place, Longshot bowed his head enough so that the brim of the hat obscured the upper half of his vision - he could see the people milling about from the waist down, and only children would be able to look up underneath his new mask to see the face beneath - but even these people had enough common sense to put their kids to sleep this late at night.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Longshot hadn't owned a true, professionally-crafted bow in years.

When they were children - shortly after they had given each other their new names and purpose - Jet had stolen a crafted composite bow from a Fire Nation archery camp - nothing as incredible as the infamous Yuu Yan, but the bow had been of nice make anyway.

_"It'd be a shame if a gift like yours went untrained,"_ the mop-headed boy had explained with a matter-of-fact shrug. _"We'll need a hawkeye like yours if we're going to do some damage against the Fire Nation."_

Rather than argue - and why argue, when what Jet said made so much sense? - Longshot took the bow and began a rigorous self-training regimen. Accuracy came natural to him, a second nature; like breathing, and just as vital. His main problem had been developing the upper body strength to handle the bow, to draw back the arrow against the sinew strung between the bow's limbs, and then to release without suffering recoil.

It took the Freedom Fighter years to perfect his craft, as any artisan or warrior worth their salt ought to do, and in the span of that time - between then and now - that bow, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, had been swallowed up by the years. Longshot wasn't exactly sure where or when he'd lost it; if habit spoke true enough, then it was probably on a battlefield. Either way, no bow to follow the that one had worked quite as well; archery wasn't one of the more observed combat styles near the Hong Ye Forest, and as such most of Longshot's equipment had been made by himself.

Wooden bow - wooden arrows. Supplies were simple to come by (they _did_ live in a forest) and simple still to make, but this simplicity also brought with it roughshod construction; as seriously as he took the job, as much as he strived for perfection in his supplies, he always found himself coming up just a hair too short for his own preference. Wood carving shouldn't have gone hand-in-hand with archery, and while he'd been in the middle of bettering himself on that front, too, there just hadn't been any time to keep up with any of it ever since they'd blown up that dam.

No longer.

In one of the weapons stalls hung a dozen different bows and quivers, set against the black, velvet wall of the carriage, but only one caught Longshot's eye from the bunch: this bow and its accompanying quiver, only from a fleeting glimpse. Longshot knew - _knew_ - that he was meant to forge onward with it.

A chalk-colored, ridged, curled horn made up the bow's belly; it looked liked the horn of a gazelke, or maybe an antelope elk (he couldn't be sure). Dried sinew had been wrapped around the upper limb, concealing the wooden core underneath, most likely made of dark oakwood, a type found in abundance in and around Ba Sing Se and renowned for its flexibility. A leather grip separated the sinew and wood from the horn, and a long, glistening string ran taut from one limb to the other, shimmering in the torchlight.

The vendor caught Longshot admiring the bow, and a greasy, shit-eating grin crossed the woman's face. The gaudy, gold trim on her robes sparkled as she approached the young archer.

"Oh my, I see you have quite an eye for these," the vendor said, her raven hair flowing straight down behind her, framing her olive-skinned face. (She only said that because it was probably one of her most expensive ones in stock - in comparison to Longshot, she was as blind as a bat.) "This bow was made by a very, very skilled craftsman, a person whom they say has survived many battles - a person who knows his way around weaponry, particularly archery equipment. I will be willing to sell the bow and a quiver of fifty arrows for one hundred gold pieces."

Longshot shook his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the wooden counter separating himself and the vendor; he pointed at the quiver of arrows with one hand and held up two fingers on the other. She'd have to strike a better deal than that - the arrows were of an undeniable quality, but if she wanted to sell him a package deal, she'd better be willing to ask for less. Internally, he smirked; he'd break her down yet.

"The bow and one hundred arrows for one hundred and twenty gold pieces," the vendor countered, her eyes narrowing against her smile.

This earned another shake of the head from the Freedom Fighter, and he reached into his ill-acquired money pouch with his fingertips. Fishing out a handful of coins, Longshot sorted through the pile before setting twenty gold pieces down on the smooth, finished wood between them. That should say enough for him.

"Tw-twenty gold pieces?" The vendor's smile struggled to stay tacked to her face as a frown pulled down on the corners of her mouth. "One hundred."

Longshot set down another twenty gold pieces and slammed his left hand down on the counter, palm-first. The vendor jerked and made a grunting noise not too dissimilar to a Fire Nation soldier being whacked upside the head with Pipsqueak's log. In response, the Freedom Fighter cocked his head to the side, smirked, and shrugged all at once - a gesture he'd often seen Jet make when telling Smellerbee or Sneers to "suit themselves." The move often came accompanied with an uncaring snort, one Longshot forwent in order to greater accentuate the weight of the situation.

"Y-you're a good haggler, kid." The vendor's voice came out low, harsh - almost threatening, but Longshot couldn't really care less. This lady was as fake as everyone else here. He slid the gold pieces over to her, and she begrudgingly swept them up into an awaiting money tin; she slumped over as she reached for the bow and its quiver, which had already come loaded with the fifty arrows. Longshot slung the quiver over his right shoulder and the bow over his left; the familiar weight of the full quiver planted Longshot firmly to the ground, and he felt his mouth broaden into a wide grin.

Had he even been alive without the cover of his hat, or the weight of his weapons? As he walked away, his new equipment bringing with it a sense of familiarity, a sense of protection, he doubted that had been the case at all.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

"Weight is important in swordplay."

Longshot nodded, and Smellerbee's mouth curled into a smirk. "Of course you know that, though. Weight's important for archery, too, like you told me. Just like the weight of your arrows affects the distance they fly and how hard they hit, the weight of my daggers, or any swords I pick up, affect how fast and hard I swing 'em. Light, rapid blows are easier with a dagger or rapier than with an iron broadsword."

The red stripes on her cheeks glinted in the morning sun as it rose towards its zenith - midday. Most of the platforms that made up the Freedom Fighters' hideout in the Forest were obscured by the crimson red leaves for which the place had been so named, but a few had been stationed so high above the ground that they pierced the canopy suspended above, allowing precious daylight - or moonlight - to filter down. The platform itself was comprised of interlocking planks of faded brown wood assembled in a circular fashion, spanning about twenty yards in diameter.

Smellerbee walked over to the stool on which Longshot sat, one lanky, gangly arm extended towards her friend. "Come on. I'm gonna let you try out a few of the swords I've collected, so you can get a better handle on weight in melee combat."

Longshot took her gloved hand, pushed himself upright, and followed Bee as the younger Freedom Fighter led him over to a small, wooden sword rack stolen from a Fire Nation camp that had been set up in the center of the platform. The rack itself had two splints of wood rising up on either side, bracing three more horizontal boards. The highest two of the second set of boards had eight sets of grooves cut out from them equidistant from each other, while the lowest board remained mostly unmarked; only a handful of nicks and scratches near the center of the piece belied that the scabbards or tips of Smellerbee's swords rested against the bottom plank at all.

Approaching the sword rack was like entering Smellerbee's hut - becoming more intimate with her life. While all around the sweet, syrupy smell of the Hong Ye's leaves, standard fare for spring, permeated the air with an aura so thick as to almost be tangible, Longshot could easily pick up the scent cast off by the rack once drawing close enough. And it smelled of - dusty, old wood, yes, and to a lesser extent it smelled like burning destruction, belying its origin...but it also carried Bee's scent, which overrode the one the Fire Nation had cast on it. It smelled of oil, of metal - of old leather and sweat. (If he concentrated hard enough - although he would never dare say it aloud - he swore he could also pick up the faintest scent of lilacs. He dismissed the notion from his mind, though, as such frilly, girlish things hardly befit Smellerbee's style.)

"These're a bunch of swords I've gotten off Fire Nation soldiers, or Earth Kingdom jerkbellies that didn't wanna cooperate with us," Smellerbee said, gesturing to the blades in question. While six of the blades were true swords, the remaining slots on the horizontal planks had been occupied by daggers, two on each row. "If you're gonna learn any kind of hand-to-hand stuff, you're going to need to find a weight class that works best for you."

Longshot fixed Smellerbee with a questioning gaze, his hand resting on her left shoulder, drawing a nod from the younger of the two. Was she sure that this was a good idea?

"Yeah, I know I kinda...er...screwed up your archery lessons. Jet still thinks covering our weaknesses is a good idea, though, an' I'm willing to try shooting an arrow again if you're willing to try melee fighting. Next time I'll try not snap your bow string."

The archer tilted his head to the side and smiled as he saw the blush creep up into Smellerbee's cheeks; her skin burned a brilliant red color that almost obscured the tips of her war paint. Her gaze flickered away, just for a moment, before meeting his eyes again. "L-let's start with something smaller, get you acclimated."

Longshot lifted his hand away, allowing Bee to turn towards the sword rack. While several of the swords looked equal parts ornate and deadly, and Longshot was certain that all of them had tasted enemy blood, to Smellerbee they didn't seem like that much of a big deal; however, as one who communicated exclusively through expressions, gestures and - when necessary - pantomime, Longshot could read Smellerbee's posture and stride as clearly as he could read characters on a scroll. Those swords and daggers were her pride - her mark on those that had opposed the Freedom Fighters. She had stolen these swords, she had turned them against their owners. That was the style she'd carved for herself.

As he picked up one of the daggers, the leather grip sunbaked and tight beneath his palm, just like his bow's, Longshot had to narrow his eyes as the blade glinted in the sunlight. In their silence, the leaves rustled against each other as a breeze blew by; below them and spanning out into the distance, the orphans the Freedom Fighters had been taking in could be heard shrieking and laughing - having fun, as children ought to be doing, not crying and screaming because the Fire Nation had taken their homes and killed their families.

He took an experimental swipe at the air, and, though kind of hard to perceive, he still picked up enough of what Smellerbee had said about weight. The dagger was actually pretty heavy despite its size, and he could feel more power to the swing than he'd have figured.

Smellerbee chuckled with that hoarse voice of hers, a grin splitting her face. "That's one of my favorites - swiped it off one of the Fire Nation jailers when I escaped the mines. It's kinda where I started stealing enemy's swords. It's got some great strategic yield because you can adapt to the flow of combat as you need to...but the best part is probably their faces when you cut 'em down with their own weapon. _Priceless_."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

The bygone conversation flashed through Longshot's mind as he tested the weight of this new dagger - not a curved blade, as Bee's personal favorite had been, but it weighed about the same and had a vicious, serrated edge. The thought made Longshot's eyes slide closed involuntarily; taking life, and enjoying it...such a foreign concept to the archer. While killing was a necessity in their line of work, he'd never gotten as into it as Smellerbee had. At the time, he had agreed with her statement - only because he hadn't known any better, because Jet had successfully converted the entire group into thinking as he did.

A lifetime ago - back in the Hong Ye Forest...had the two Freedom Fighters really been such different people...?

While this dagger didn't smell of old leather, of sweat or (faintly) of lilacs, it certainly carried the odors of metal and oil; and with a weight so fine-tuned as if to make Longshot believe this dagger had been made explicitly for Bee's usage, he haggled the price of the weapon down to almost nothing before turning away, a sly grin crossing his jaw. All that remained now was a new chest piece for Bee, and enough food to ease the starved wriggling in their bellies and last them for the first few days of their journey.

People buzzed and bustled around him, chattering about their selfish lives, concerned about their trivial, two-dimensional woes. Their clomping, scraping footsteps against the stone street - the low thrumming noise cast by their voices - finally seemed to catch up to the stoic archer, and he had to draw a deep breath in order to avoid losing his temper. The lingering, distant scent of burning torches wafted into Longshot's nose as he clenched his fists, one empty, one holding Bee's new dagger. Best to get what was left now and get the hell out of here...his patience with these uncaring people waned with each passing moment, and he liked to think he was pretty imperturbable.

"You! Hey! Kid!"

Longshot offered a silent curse as he bowed his head; he turned towards the throng of Upper Ring citizens, his pace swift and silent. His pulse started to hammer against his ribs, and panic started sinking its fangs into his back; he needed to get out of sight _now_. Had the tea shop owner - the one who had mentioned Mushi (whom Longshot had no doubt in his mind was actually the old man from the ferry and then later the tea shop which Jet so aggravatingly assaulted) found out about his missing money pouch and come after the archer? Or worse, was it the Dai Li, recognizing him and singling him out? In the face of that, the Freedom Fighters could stand to go hungry for a little while longer, but even as he moved, the voice followed him through the throng if fops and slimeballs.

"You like blades, huh? Have I got a deal for you!"

The archer came to a gradual stop, bringing his eyes up in the direction of the one who'd addressed him; a middle-aged, squat man wearing white robes with green highlights stood at the entrance to a nearby shop - not just a stall but a full building, a wide grin on his gap-toothed face. _Not_ the man he'd stolen from. _Not_ the Dai Li. Longshot felt relief wash over the panic and dread, and he sighed, resisting the urge to shake his head.

Wrinkles lined the sides of the doorman's mouth, eyes and brow, and peppered black hair had been tied into a braid that went down to his shoulder blades. The man spread his arms wide, one gesturing at Longshot, the other to the door of the building behind him. Through the open door leading inside the shop, Longshot spotted a wall lined with weapons - swords, mostly, but he caught a glimpse of clubs, maces and flails against the lime green light flooding the room. While there had been lanterns with the same color flickering on the streets of the Upper Ring, seeing it in an enclosed space, even from this distance, reminded the archer a little too much of Lake Laogai, of the Dai Li's underwater catacombs...but, buying another weapon for Smellerbee - an actual sword - would serve as a kind gesture, at least. It wasn't like he didn't have the money...and he'd been pretty consistent in bartering these important items down to a pittance, so maybe his luck would hold out just a little bit longer.

Casting a leery glance to the left and right - making sure that nobody _else_ had been shouting accusatory things in his direction - Longshot pointed at himself and hiked an eyebrow. The gap-toothed man nodded and waved Longshot inside.

"C'mon in and check out our stock! We just received a nice supply of swords from the Dai Li, including a few incredibly rare pieces of excellent construction!"

Longshot slipped Bee's new dagger into his belt and shrugged. Why not? The tea shop owner had provided the Freedom Fighter with enough cash that he could afford a luxury item or two, particularly if it meant lifting Bee's spirits a bit. The archer approached the building - squat as the man standing in front of it, with pastel-brown, clay frame, the windows of the shop cast green squares of light on the street and the people walking over them. Even from a few yards away, he could smell the tang of metal lingering in the air, greeting him like a familiar face - when your two best friends mastered swordsmanship, their scents often mingled with yours.

Curiosity piqued, Longshot nodded at the doorman, negotiating around the herd of shallow aristocrats as best he could, trying not to jostle them with his quiver. Boots scraping the stone, the aroma of fresh food _still_ tantalizingly close, the archer passed through the store's doorway, into the haunting green light inside. Swords did indeed feel like the code word of the day: while shelves lining the floor held various other weapons of all natures (staves, pikes, crossbows (the archer pulled a face as his eyes scrolled across them) and clubs), the shop's four walls had nothing but swords, swords and more swords - hanging, blade-down, as Smellerbee's had been on her sword rack in the Forest, so long ago.

So many of them - almost overwhelming, especially to somebody who didn't know the - the art, really. Because that's what it was, wasn't it? Longshot reached up toward the nearest sword, sheathed in a black scabbard with gold trim, the pommel round and curved so that it would shield the entire hand of the wielder, resting his fingertips along the cool, dark wood. Swordsmanship, archery, bending - all art forms to a degree, utilizing different parts of the body to express ones' self on the canvas of battle.

Maybe it would be best just to pick a sword that looked fearsome and see how Bee liked it. There wasn't a blade she couldn't adapt to, so far as Longshot knew. He turned away from the sword he had been scrutinizing and meandered over to the back wall, against which the sale's counter was situated; a clerk wearing a caterdillo mustache and a green fedora sat behind the counter, his hands folded in front of him, a pleasant smile as fake as the rest of this place on his lined, chubby face.

"Welcome, sir!" The clerk enthused, his voice low and thick with a Northern accent. His tan skin gleamed with under the blossoming light of the crystals mounted in the walls. "Is there something I can help you find? A pair of iron swords, perhaps, for the house? Or are you looking for something more practical? I can interest you in several blades that are better suited for combat. We are also having a sale on dual broadswords: seventy-five gold pieces for the basic pair, eighty if you would prefer streamers made of the finest woven silk attached to the hilts."

Longshot pursed his lips and rubbed his chin, sweeping his gaze across the wall behind the shopkeeper; Bee would want something light if they were going to carry it with them, but also something that would strike fear into those who saw it...something like -

Twin, curved, deadly blades, thin, the ends hooked - perfect for tripping up enemies, the edges sharp enough to cut through wood, though inefficient for piercing. That didn't matter; the hand guards of the weapons, golden and crescent-shaped, as well as the diamond-spiked pommels, could do some more direct damage when used in application, the hilts wrapped with leather that had been dyed blue. Everything about them whistled with fluid, lethal grace, the design so foreign that Longshot had never really known their point of origin. They hung from the wall directly behind the counter, the blades crossing, glimmering, glistening...far more than familiar. He _knew_ those blades.

Jet's swords.

Though the clerk continued to speak, his voice had degenerated into background noise, an incessant buzzing; Longshot couldn't hear him over the throbbing of his pulse in his ears, his chest tightening and tingling, a fist-full of worms, cold and squirming and writhing, dumped into his stomach. Nausea threatened to overcome him, but - but that was nothing compared to the _fury_. He clenched his teeth and curled his fists, trying to keep a cool head; how _dare_ the Dai Li pawn off those swords? Where the hell did they get off on that, performing an act such as this with so much audacity? They didn't know weapons' history, the importance behind those blades, and how could they have? That didn't change the fact that they had stolen, sold those swords, profiting from the death of the most loyal fighter the Earth Kingdom had ever known, a brilliant spark amongst the sea of drudge and uselessness. Those swords were a symbol, a sigil the Freedom Fighters had followed, and any one of his friends and teammates would have been equally, if not moreso, enraged in their presence here, in such a gaudy, spurious place, in a _shop_, no less!

Okay. Okay, keep it together...bypassing the sales pitch, the useless static pouring from the chubby man's mouth, Longshot pointed at the swords, piercing the veil of shock that had been thrown around him, like having The Duke dumping a bucket of cold water on you as you slept. The clerk stumbled in whatever speech he'd preconceived to sell, sell, sell only for a moment; he made a graceful recovery and walked to stand below Jet's swords, one hand extended upwards to them.

"You like these?" The clerk offered, his voice once again coming to the forefront. "Then have I got a bargain for you! These came in from the Dai Li not one week ago - "

Longshot resisted the urge to slam his hands down on the counter. A week? He and Smellerbee had been trapped down in that dank, musty, lifeless cell for a week...?

" - and, while they're not in the best condition, they're of rare construct. I'm willing to part with them for...three-hundred eighty gold pieces."

Longshot shook his head and gestured for the swords; the shop keeper, hiking an eyebrow, pulled them from the hooks holding them up and brought them to the counter, setting them down with the blades facing the Freedom Fighter. And although his face remained grave, inside he scowled, baring his teeth; never, _ever_ try to sell a man the swords of his best friend, especially if that man has the eyes of an eagle-hawk.

He knew - not very well, but knew nonetheless - that Jet's swords weren't in perfect condition because he used them so frequently, and because supplies for upkeeping them had been a commodity on the road to Ba Sing Se. While the Freedom Fighters' leader maintained the swords - oiling the blades and sharpening the edges - he had made use of them for years, now. In this light, with this proximity, every little inconsequential flaw stood out as clearly as the wrinkles on the clerk's face. Longshot planned to capitalize on every last one.

A scuff mark on one hilt, some peeling leather on the other; chip marks on the bladed edges of the hand guards from their fight against the Dai Li (the swords had apparently gone untreated in the time between then and now); the razor-tipped pommels had likewise been damaged from being lodged in stone, and the hooks had suffered some minor wear, more dirt and scuff marks lining the entire length of the blade. By the time Longshot finished pointing all these flaws out (and in addition to a little embellishing), the shop keep's skin had turned a sickly shade of pale.

"Okay, okay. Given the..." he swallowed audibly. "...flawed...condition of both blades, I will sell them to you for no less than one-hundred and twenty gold."

Longshot nodded, keeping his face even. Minutes later, he walked out of the store, his money pouch lighter and his load greater...but it was worthwhile. It was better than allowing Jet's swords to fall into the hands of the wrong person. A person who would care not for their inherent value, or a person who may actually use them in a cause against all that Jet and the Freedom Fighters stood for.

Ba Sing Se's atmosphere no longer felt as welcoming or as warm as it had beforehand, and Longshot hiked up the collar of his tunic. The swords, arrows and bow weighed heavily on him, and he closed his eyes for a moment; there wasn't any time left to linger. Something had changed, taking a turn for the oppressive, and Longshot could feel his welcome already being overstayed. Bee's armor could wait for another town; time to get some food and get back to Lake Laogai.


	3. Book 2, Chapter 3

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book 2: Escaping Ba Sing Se**

**Chapter 3: Even the Keisatsu tune in here when they're not eatin' donuts!**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-2-3-132229588

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Six Years Ago_

She shouldn't be in here.

Jet - the one with the fuzzy brown hair, tanned skin and sharp eyebrows - had told her to explore her new home. He'd lifted the deer hide flap covering the entrance to his hut - and she saw him hang up those swords, the ones with the curved blades and moon-shaped hand guards, on the back wall before coming back to face her.

_"Look around. Say hi to the other Freedom Fighters. Get to know the place. We're all pretty friendly here, because we all come from the same background. We all have one thing in common."_

He had smirked, and didn't say anything else...she wondered what he'd meant by that. What did they all have in common? Surely these people were just kids, kids with homes and families, just going out for the day to play pretend. That they'd go home at night, snuggle up in their warm beds, have scary stories read to them of Fire Nation boogiemen coming to snatch them away in the middle of the night, like it wasn't their problem.

So, Jet had turned to Sneers, squat and tan-faced and raven-haired, and to Longshot, the one in the blue tunic, the one she could understand without him having to speak, the one who had shared his lychee nuts with her, and the three jumped down from the platform, catching a zipline that pierced the nearby canopy, vanishing between the glowing red leaves.

Look around.

Okay, sure. She could do that. She'd just start with something close by.

Pushing the pelt away from the door frame, the fur rough and dirty and heavy against her forearm, she took a quick look around to make sure she was alone - no sign of Jet, Sneers or Longshot. Good. The last thing she wanted was to get caught. Because if those three really _were_ just playing a game, then they might not like it that she'd be in here, they might hurt her, grab her by the hair, and threaten to tell her mommy on her. That didn't worry her so much as what repercussions would come from it; she didn't have a mommy, she didn't even have a _name_, and just as she had fought and fought and ended so many lives to get her freedom, she wouldn't be afraid to punch back if it came that far. They had been nice, and...and she didn't want them to _not_ be nice. She'd had her fill of people like that, and she'd made sure they wouldn't bother her ever again.

This hut - that's all it was, really, just a hollow pile of wood and clay, with big gaps in the walls that let too much sunlight in, probably making the place drafty at night - had the same scents as the forest outside...sweet things, things she knew she'd eaten at some point, but every time she tried to think of what they were, they fizzled away and she lost her focus. These smells hadn't been in the mines...the mines had been dusty, stale, moldy, and chalky...stinky, full of people who didn't..._couldn't_ actually bathe. This place, though...even in the hut, she could smell the forest, she could smell the boy calling himself Jet. Smelled like...the wild, like animals...but not offensive, because that toe-curling _stink_ just wasn't here.

Of course he'd be clean, though. He had a home with a wash basin.

Right?

He didn't have much in his room...a ratty, straw mat that looked about ready to fall apart, a small, wooden table that looked as if it had been broken, two of the legs shattered and the top sliced in half, and then painstakingly put back together by somebody who wasn't good with that sorta thing, a small pile of clothes...and the swords, hanging up on the wall, shimmering, flawless, _beautiful_. The hooked end wouldn't do a whole lot of damage, and they seemed pretty useless - why would you put something like that in the way of the cutty-slicey part? Still...the hand guards and the pommels...now _those_ could cause some damage. The guards were shaped like the moon just before it turned all black, golden-colored, and the sunlight filtering in through one of the holes in the wall reflected off the edge, glistening and razor-sharp, like water. The pommels (she knew that word, had heard one taskmaster say it a lot when yelling at a younger soldier who _"had his sword pommel-back"_ and _"his ass where his head should be"_), instead of ending in some soft, roundy shape, were pointed and diamond-like; those could _really_ kill a person, if they aimed for the right body part.

She wouldn't have minded having something like these for her escape. It looked a lot better than her pick-axe and stolen knife had.

If Jet was playing pretend, why would he have weapons like these? Weapons that could hurt, could cut, could pierce, could make all the blood come out, crunching bones, gushing organs, life fluid dripping down the stalagmite, pooling on the floor, and, and, face gone, lost, mouth just a big wide "**O**" with more inky red oozing out the corners and, and...

She shook her head - if nothing else, _that_ was motivation for checkin' out these swords. She'd used her hands, her pick-axe, and a knife that hadn't been hers to get this far...if it came down to it, she'd use these swords. Just in case Jet and Sneers and Longshot _were_ bullies, just in case she needed to defend herself.

Just in case.

Reaching up with one hand - still caked in filth, chipped nails turned dark from all the dirt stuck beneath - she let her fingers slide over the flat part of the hand guard. It was smooth, cold...beautiful, kinda. It could do a lot of damage, shouldn't be in the hands of somebody playin' wild child in the trees. The guard dipped a little bit beneath her touch, and - when had she gotten so close to them? She hadn't even realized. Something about 'em was just...magical, almost. Unreal.

Well.

Her hand drifted sideways - to the grip, wrapped in blue leather, grooves for the fingers on the inside of the hand guard. Cool to the touch, the leather bound tight, untreated...rough. Curling her fingers, she wrapped one hand around the hilt, closed her grip...and as much as she wanted to pull it away from the wall, to take it and use it, she couldn't. Like somebody had pinned a hand to the blade part, keepin' it stuck on the wall, except she wasn't really trying to lift it up. There was somethin' weird about these swords...she narrowed her eyes and grit her teeth. Whatever it was, it pressed in from all sides...as if picking up the sword would cause the hut itself to fall down around her.

Come on - come on. That's silly. They're just hanging from the wall; if you lift and pull at the same time, they'll come right off the hooks and just be _done_ with it. Grunting, she hefted the blade up - pulled it towards her - so _heavy!_ - but then, yes - ah! The sword came free, and she lurched backwards under its weight, bending over to keep herself from falling. The hook end clattered against the floor, the noise sharp and clear and piercing the air, making her wince; somebody could have heard that, somebody -

No, there wouldn't _be_ anyone else here. It was all just a lie, a story made up by Jet and Sneers and Longshot (who had fed her, had stayed with her outside the flaming ruins of the camp, had...), just three boys playing a game. She wrapped her other hand around the grip; grunting, muscles burning, she hefted the sword up, the blade clearing the ground...still heavy, like a stone she shouldn't be carrying by herself, but none of the adults would help out anyway. She was used to it, at least. The sword shouldn't weigh this much, the blade was too thin! But - ugh - if she needed it, she might as well practice. She brought her arms back, the wood floor rough against the soles of her feet, the sword threatening to drag her down to the ground - no, don't fall, don't, just, just _swing_ -

The blade hacked through the air, almost throwing her off-balance, piercing the clay wall; the hook latched outside, and she allowed herself a grin. That hadn't been so hard. She brought a hand up to wipe sweat off her forehead - hadn't even realized she'd _been_ sweating - before grasping the hilt again. All she had to do now was dislodge the hook, and - pulled -

...crap.

The sword wiggled, but it had stuck fast; the hook wouldn't come loose, leaving it in the wall. Crap, crap, crap! She pushed, pulled, wiggled the sword left and right, her face flushed with red heat, ears itching, and, and she could _really_ get in trouble now, she needed this sword to protect herself from the boys that only acted nice and probably weren't, probably just like the taskmasters at the mines, only not as icky, and, and...and the sword wouldn't come _free_!

"Gah! Come _on_!" She yelled, her voice scraping her throat. "Move, you stupid sword!"

"The hook is caught, that's all. Nothing a little finesse won't fix."

She jerked backwards, whirling around and bringing up her fists, heart thundering against her ribs, pulse hot and loud and, and, Jet stood there, in the entrance to his hut, that stalk of wheat clenched in his teeth, his shaggy hair framing his tanned face. Instead of looking mad, or offended, or, or ready to _swing_ at her like the taskmasters had, he just had his head to the side, an eyebrow quirked, a grin lighting across his jaw.

"Jeez, calm down. Spaz." Jet shook his head and chuckled, sidling into the room and letting the pelt flop back into place. "You didn't wander very far, did you?"

She didn't say anything - keeping your mouth shut always saved your ass in the mine, and she figured, well, might as well try it here, in case she really _was_ in trouble and Jet was just a phony. Keeping her fists raised, she stepped to the side, going around the room, as Jet moved towards the sword; he didn't, didn't _look_ at her, instead had his focus on his weapon, wrapping one hand around the hilt. "I swiped this off a Fire Nation noble in the town near here. They're occupying the place, you know...we don't have enough people to get rid of them yet, but - nfh!" He wiggled the sword once, pushed it forward, then pulled it back; it came free, chipping off more flecks of clay, making the hole bigger, allowing more sunlight to glow through it, but if Jet cared he didn't show it. He turned, hung the sword back up on the hook, and returned his attention to her. "We'll get rid of them as soon as we get the opportunity. I just need a little more help, is all."

Hmph. Them and their pretend war games, they had no idea what it was like to lose all that matters to you to the Fire Nation. He was absolutely clueless, but saying that, bringing it out into the open, well, that would get her a cuff upside the head at least.

With a sigh, Jet shook his head and plopped down on the floor, crossing his legs. "You're smart to stay on your guard. I don't know what happened to you in that mine - but whatever it was, you're tough for a little boy. You survived somehow, when nobody else had - and I know, I saw the bodies with my own eyes - and survival is important around here. A lot of the corpses had stab wounds - I'm sure the knife in your pants came in handy."

Wait, what? She let her hands drop to her sides and shook her head. "How did you know - ?"

"And he speaks," Jet crowed, laughing. "The way you walked, favoring your left leg. You either had a limp, or you were keeping a knife in the brim of your pants and didn't want to get cut."

She bristled, hunching her shoulders and growling. "You sure know a lotta things for a kid playin' orphan." He was still right, though - she could feel the wicked metal pressing against her thigh, warmed from her body heat but lethal and ice-cold because of what you were supposed to use it for.

Jet's mouth curled into a frown, and he craned his head back, eyes sliding half-shut. "Playing? No. When I told you that we all had one thing in common here, and that you're no exception...the Fire Nation took everything from you, didn't they?"

She started to say, No, they didn't, you're _wrong_, you're a liar - but, no, that wouldn't be right. She clenched her teeth and scowled at him; every inch of her wanted to defy him, to prove what a fibber he was, even if it meant making stuff up about herself, but saying the Fire Nation _hadn't_ taken away her family, her childhood, her voice...

In her silence, Jet found his answer, giving a solemn nod. "Everyone here is an orphan. We've lost all we had to them - people we loved, parts of our life that are hard to leave behind. My entire village got burned down three years ago by five men on komodo rhinos. I was just a kid - I couldn't do anything but watch. I was helpless."

"But...you're _still_ a kid." She pursed her lips and snorted.

"No. No I'm not." Jet shook his head and pushed up to his feet. "There's ten of us; Sneers, Longshot and I aren't any different from you, and neither are the rest. There's not a lot we can do right now, especially since the three of us are the only ones who know how to fight. But once we have enough help..." He turned to her and extended a hand her way, skin tanned, dirt lining the cracks of his palm and fingers. "You're welcome to stay with us; the Freedom Fighters could use somebody as tough as you. 'Family in the face of nothing else;' that's part of our Creed. You can help us get revenge on the Fire Nation. Revenge on the people you lost, on the home you don't have anymore, on that important thing they stole from you."

As he said that - _"that important thing they stole from you"_ - she felt her hand drift up to her neck, fingers coming to a stop halfway up, the skin grody and sticky and caked with filth, just as the rest of her. Her eyes went wide and she whispered, "My voice."

Jet didn't laugh, didn't smile...he smirked, though, but it was a knowing one, his eyes gone dark and haunted. He knew...he really _did_ know what it was like. "For your voice, then. You in?"

She met his eyes for real this time - and she nodded.

Jet jerked his head to the door, and - yeah, this time he grinned, a genuine one untouched by what the Fire Nation had done to him. "Now come on; I'll introduce you to the others. Becoming a Freedom Fighter means starting over again, and every Freedom Fighter gets a new name. We just need one for you, like...hrm..." He glanced to the left, to the right - and shrugged, saying, "I guess we'll find something for you eventually. How's Little No-Name sound in the meantime?"

Little No-Name grinned. "Don't even remember my real one." Jet lead her from his hut, out into the sunlight again; and before they strayed to far from the door, she added, "By the way, I'm a girl."

Jet's eyebrows shot up; he glanced over to her, sized her up, and at last broke out into a gale of laughter. "Okay then, my Little No-Name. Welcome to the Freedom Fighters."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

"That was the first time I'd ever touched Jet's swords."

Longshot's gaze remained neutral, but Smellerbee could still read the questions playing out in his round, black eyes; he hadn't made a mistake, had he?

She shook her head as she tore a chunk of turkey duck off of the leg bone with her teeth. The juice from the meat burst over her tongue, basting it in flavor - glorious, glorious flavor - and it took all of her willpower to not roll her eyes back into her head. She never imagined the taste of her own mouth would revile her so much.

The swords in question glistened on the cave's floor between the two Freedom Fighters, shimmering in the dimming firelight. Smellerbee had plucked the patch of dry grass clean, and the rain had begun to fall again beyond the confines of the cave, smattering down in sheets. The sound of water impacting the ground and the surface of Lake Laogai struck her as remarkably similar to the sizzling, popping sounds blubber made while being cooked.

Longshot's timing had been perfect; not only did he manage to beat the rain by a slender margin (no greater than five minutes, she figured), but he also appeared at the cave's mouth just as she had finished tugging on the last of her freshly-dried clothing. Decency and punctuality had never gone better hand-in-hand, and when quizzed on if he'd been sneaking peaks from outside just to get his timing right, his face turned a brilliant, adorable shade of scarlet as he denied the entire notion.

"No - shu dih tha righ' thin'." Smellerbee snarfed and gulped down her mouthful before diving in for another. Easy, girl, easy...don't eat _too_ fast now, or else you'll wind up throwing up. The grease from the meat smeared all around her mouth, but it didn't matter; her belly yearned for more, and after finding out that she'd gone a week without food, she wasn't too keen on denying it. "Jeh wah been pished ah ush if you han'd goddum bagh."

What?

She snorted, finished chewing, swallowed. "I said, Jet would'a been pissed at us if you hadn't got them back."

The ghost of a smile appeared on the archer's face, and he bowed his head down, obscuring his eyes underneath his new hat. He plucked a pair of chopsticks from the burlap sack of food he'd secured in the Upper Ring; after snapping them apart, he withdrew a small bowl of beef salad, forgoing the greens for the time being and picking at the clusters of meat scattered inside. Even though he hid it behind the mask of stoicism, he didn't need to say anything for Smellerbee to see that his belly rumbled as ferociously as hers did. He'd waited to eat until now - until Smellerbee could eat with him, and the notion made the swordswoman's eyes sting a little bit.

She swallowed her current mouthful and threw her head back, unleashing a burp that shook the depths of their temporary shelter. "Hope you got some food that's a bit more travel-friendly. As good as turkey duck meat is, we'll need jerky for the first leg of the trip. Beyond the walls of the city is pretty much all plains and barren fields."

Longshot nodded, chewing as silently as his voice. Yeah, he knew. He'd swiped enough dried meat to last them a week.

Smellerbee hiked an eyebrow and leaned forward, resting her free hand on her knee. Using the drumstick to gesture at the archer, the young swordswoman cleared her throat. "You know...I've been curious about something for a while now, Longshot."

He raised the brim of his had high enough to show that his eyebrows had been hiked up, black eyes electric with curiosity.

"You have manners."

A small nod.

"That's something no other Freedom Fighter ever had." Smellerbee shrugged.

Another nod, and this time his gaze flicked to the entrance of the cave in response. What was she getting at?

"Sorry. My point is - you're my friend, and without Jet, all we have to rely on is each other. The way you eat and act...well. Even before the dam, you were always so much more level-headed and mature than the rest of us. I'm just curious if you had any formal upbringing, is all."

Longshot shook his head this time and gave a small shrug; his head crooked to one side and his faint smile morphed into a grin. Would it matter to her if he had?

"No, it wouldn't make a difference." Smellerbee felt an immense pressure being lifted from her - she hadn't even been aware of it until it had left, by that point already a fleeting, unremarkable sensation. So what if Longshot ate like a civilized human being...? All it meant is that he didn't get food on his face and tunic. Thinking about Jet's swords had brought her back to a time where she wasn't so sure of her own self - of who she had been. She lolled her head back and closed her eyes, satisfaction wafting up from her stomach, out, escaping as a heavy sigh. "You're still you regardless of how you were raised."

Leaning forward again, Smellerbee turned her focus again to the turkey duck stick and tore another chunk out of it. "Shanksh. Ish d'lishush."

Another fleeting smile crossed his pale, angular face, and Smellerbee grinned.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"As strategically sound an idea as this is...I still don't miss getting drenched."

It was a fair trade-off though, Smellerbee had to admit. Wrists aflame with hives - as if the downpour dousing the two Freedom Fighters and drowning out all surrounding sound wasn't enough of a clue that, yes, it _was_ raining - she had a full belly and a decent rest period under her belt. The exhaustion had passed for the most part, and she had recovered from her sleep deprivation; while her chest still ached with a dull, almost metallic throb from drowning (she _had_ drowned, right...? Longshot said that her heart had stopped beating, that she hadn't drawn breath...it was hard to actually process those facts, the reality that she'd been dead for a few minutes), being on the move like this - so quiet, so stealthy - made the young swordswoman feel well and truly alive.

Longshot seemed to read Bee's posture and his eyes sparkled - a cocky, mirthsome attitude taking the normally stoic archer by fancy. Smellerbee smirked and play-punched him in the shoulder before turning her attention back outward - facing the towering, cream-colored wall that rose up and pierced the fog about a hundred yards away.

One other thing Smellerbee subversively indulged herself in that she hadn't had while alone - Longshot's warmth.

While hiding under the tarp for the camping set the archer had bought in the Upper Ring (and the thought of anyone from the Upper Ring camping struck Smellerbee as nothing short of amusing), Longshot's body heat radiated outward - like a fire, only it didn't decimate your life, didn't steal away your family, rob you of your voice. Like a campfire in the forest - celebrating a successful raid, or a new Freedom Fighter being inducted, or a close brush with death that everyone managed to survive. A healthy, nostalgic fire with silent, unyielding strength. It reminded her of stumbling down in the cell underneath Lake Laogai, how warm he had been when pressed up against his body. It made even Ba Sing Se's drenched, depressing atmosphere bearable.

Not like they'd be here much longer, but that was the purpose for this reconnaissance. Through the foggy soup and underneath the protection of the tarp, rain pattering down against it with a sharp, rhythmic beat, the two Freedom Fighters hugged the roof of a tall apartment in the Lower Ring, the dusty, copper tiles dropping away before them. Across the street sat a squat, elongated building huddled amidst the storm; Smellerbee could swear she saw it shuddering and quaking in the downpour. A lumpy, gray-haired old man labored ceaselessly beneath a patchwork awning mounted on the building's side; Smellerbee could tell from this distance that the weather wreaked havoc something fierce with the man's joints, moving stiffly, wincing every now and then. A filthy shirt that had been more green than brown at one point stretched across his paunch, and a scuzzy, roughshod, tweed cap covered the top of his head. The awning - which covered an open alcove in the building - had small, wooden dividers creating individual sections mostly protected from the rain (though the ratty condition of the leather stretched over these paddies led Smellerbee to believe that it didn't work as effectively as it ought to have), and a few of the stalls even had occupants. Hog sheep, chicken goats...livestock.

"You were right. The Lower Ring is full'a people like us." Smellerbee withdrew a tight, high breath and exhaled through her nose; stealing right from the stable would be like stealing Telltale's stuffed platypus bear. Narrowing her eyes and frowning, she added, "But if we hadn't seen those soldiers leave their ostrich horses here every day we went to work, you wouldn't figure this for anything more than a run-of-the-mill stable." So long as they stole _those_ and make themselves visible so the stall keeper didn't get in trouble, they'd be doing it the Freedom Fighter way without going down the wrong path.

Longshot nodded, looked ready to say something - but his eyes narrowed and he held up two fingers on one hand. He heard something coming their way. His senses had always been sharper, so of course he'd be able to pick up what was going on through _this_ soup. He couldn't tell what it was though - the scraping-clicking of ostrich horse talons on stone flicked at the air, but...if it was a threat or -

" - the target," Smellerbee hissed, eyes falling down to the streets. For the first time in an hour, motion beyond the stable caught her eye; four Earth Kingdom soldiers on ostrich horses strode into sight, riding in from just beyond the reaches of Ba Sing Se's inner ring, the same time it had been every day for those two agonizing weeks of cleaning dishes. All four of the beasts had a noble, strong aura about them, and judging by the luster of their mud-brown feathers, the rippling muscles in their scaled legs, and the razor sharp edges of their beaks, Smellerbee knew that the animals had been bred for military service. After tying their mounts up, the four would go around the block and vanish into the tavern nearby; how long they'd be in there, neither Freedom Fighter knew, so timing would be key for this mission. Longshot pulled the tarp away from them - Smellerbee shuddered as the cold rain hammered her back and shoulders in earnest, but they'd need the tarp for the road, making this a necessary evil. The archer folded it with lightning-fast proficiency, stuffing it into the knapsack with the rest of their supplies.

"I wonder what happened first," Smellerbee found herself saying, making no attempt to mask the bitter tone in her voice. "Did they hear about Ba Sing Se's 'Don't talk about the war' policy before they started making rounds here? Or was it the opposite?"

Longshot fixed her with a sideways glance, causing Bee to release a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "I'm just sayin' because they're obviously soldiers, and we know Long Feng doesn't allow talk of the war from anyone with a voice. Jet may've gotten arrested for evoking that fight with the tea shop guy, but you'd need to be blind to miss the fact that they kept him - manipulated him - because he had the power to reveal the truth."

He nodded again, and ended the conversation there; the soldiers drew ever closer, and through the dense murk Smellerbee could make out the details in their uniforms. Black, plated armor and chain mail had been masked by lime, ochre and clay-colored robes; studded gauntlets protected their wrists and forearms, while emerald-colored, domed helmets covered their heads and protected them from the worst of the downpour.

Smellerbee reached for the hilts of Jet's swords, strapped to her back; when they were within ten feet of the stalls, she pushed herself upright and freed the curved blades from the harness tied around her torso. The blades flickered, shimmered against the gray sky, cutting twin crescents of silver through the air. The flash drew the attention of the soldiers; they turned, their faces curling, twisting, surprised, shocked, battle-ready, a complete mix, now was her chance to capitalize; she sprung away from the roof, muscles coiling and burning, rain plastering her hair down to her head, cold and hard on her face, wind howling, and Smellerbee realized, fleetingly, that the grips of the swords were not big enough for her hands and, while not as bad as they had been when she was eight, they still weighed too heavily in her grasp.

There wasn't any turning back now.

Heart hammering, adrenaline rushing through her veins, she curled up into a ball, protecting her chest with her legs. She landed on the ground in a crouch, rolled, before leaping at the nearest soldier; she unleashed two swift attacks with Jet's swords, a pair of quicksilver arcs that should have severed the soldier's reins and stirrups and toppled the soldier from his saddle, but - in her eagerness, she forgot to accommodate for the sword's hooks. They caught on the cloth of the soldier's armor, and Smellerbee's momentum yanked him his mount, sending both him and her sprawling in a heap onto the ground. The stone scraped her cheek raw, grated her shoulder and arm through her tunic, and water - cold, dank - splashed up into her face, making her sputter and curse.

"We're under atta - "

Before one of the remaining soldiers could finish, four arrows pierced the air with a narrow whistling noise; he made a strange swallowing noise and found himself pinned by the clothes to the side of the stable, the arrows plunged in just above his arms and thighs. Smellerbee saw, from the corner of her line of sight, that the soldier's eyes had gone wide and his face had paled.

Stumbling to her feet, ignoring the searing pain in her shoulder and face, Smellerbee hefted Jet's swords up again; one of the remaining soldiers pushed away from his ostrich horse, landing in a crouch on the street, his robes flowing around him like the very water cast out from the sky. His chiseled face came to bear, glaring Smellerbee down while the young Freedom Fighter took a fighting stance, planting her feet apart and hunching.

"You're foolish to think you can fight the army of the Earth Kingdom," the soldier growled, voice meshing with the rain.

"We don't plan on fightin' the whole thing - just you four." Smellerbee smirked.

Behind the remaining soldiers, Longshot fired an arrow into the roof of the stable, a thick rope tied to the arrow's shaft; before the last soldier could swing himself free from his mount, the mute archer zipped down with his legs extended outward, planting a solid kick into the soldier's chest. The resulting contact created an explosion of water from the soaked cloth, sending the older man sprawling back-first into the side of the stable with a raucous crash.

The last remaining soldier jerked - his head flicked backwards to Longshot, just for a split second - just long enough for Smellerbee to close the distance between herself and him, feet kicking up sprays of water, every footstep grinding against the ground. Okay, okay, she'd seen Jet do this trick before, it should be a pretty easy one even without actually having done it herself, just be sure to execute the timing right. Bringing the swords around in a narrow arc, she impaled the hooks through the hem of the man's robes and slid between his legs. The stone ground at her flesh again, and she winced; her butt would _hate_ her for this later. With momentum, she broke the soldier's stance and sent him sprawling onto his face with a low, wet crunch (broken nose, would hurt worse than raw skin), his helmet springing free of his head and clattering down the street.

Smellerbee stumbled back up to her feet, breath hot and throat ragged, casting a glance over the chaos that the two Freedom Fighters had invoked. Three soldiers unconscious, one stuck to a wall - and the stablehand, staring at the two with wide eyes and a sputtering mouth that yielded no noise. After a second, reality seemed to set in with him; old and rotund as he may have been, the man took a wide, solid stance with one arm extended in Smellerbee's direction. A Bender.

"Hey, I don't want any trouble with you, Old Timer." Smellerbee shook her head, sending droplets of rain scattering. "You look like you have enough on your hands."

"You attack my customers and make ta steal their ostrich horses - then you tell me ta back off?" The man's voice wobbled and cracked, and judging by how pale he'd gone and how his cheeks quivered like rice pudding, he couldn't have been more afraid of the two Freedom Fighters. "You gotta be crazier than a herd'a canyon crawlers confrontin' the Avatar!"

"If it helps you feel any better, we'll take good care of the ostrich horses while we have 'em." Smellerbee sheathed Jet's swords and approached the nearest ostrich horse, taking it by the reins; from the corner of her eye, she saw Longshot mount up on one of the four beasts. The stablehand's stance faltered, and Smellerbee capitalized by hauling herself up her choice mount's side and lashing the reins. "Yah! Let's go, Longshot!"

The ostrich horse neighed and reared back; it almost bucked her off, she could feel gravity clawing at her, trying to drag her down, but her grip on the leather straps stayed firm. The beasts turned and charged southbound in unison, her body jumping up and down with each thunderous stride it took, the wind and rain tearing at her face. She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, almost lying flat against the creature's back, the undeniable scent of wildlife rich in the creature's down.

As the ostrich horses' powerful, taloned feet dug away at the cobblestone street, Smellerbee felt a bubbling laugh rise up in her chest; the saddle, meant for a grown man much larger than her, dug into her thighs as she bounced on the creature's back, her grip on the reins ironclad. Longshot, on his own ostrich horse, galloped into the corner of Smellerbee's gaze every few seconds, but for the most part he stayed behind her, allowing her to lead the course the two had planned out when going over this mission. Screw feeling alive - this was a high, an adrenaline shot right to the arm, bringing with it a battle-ready giddiness she hadn't felt since she and Longshot agreed to come to Ba Sing Se together in the first place

The first part of the escape route had the two ostrich horses barreling down a straightaway, the tall, filthy apartments and squat, ramshackle shops rushing past on both sides, gray and brown blurs; rain hammered into them from above, windsheer cutting into them from in front. From behind, over the roaring of the beasts' charge, Smellerbee heard somebody hollering at them - and, as she predicted would happen, a shaft of rock burst up in the middle of the street up ahead. Smellerbee pulled her steed to the side with room to spare, Longshot dodging around the opposite way before joining in the center of the street.

"Dai Li're here," Smellerbee murmured, stealing a glance up to the rooftops above; two familiar, emerald-and-onyx-robed figures had appeared on the rooftops as crow pigeons on an overcast day. Smellerbee fidgeted, a prickling sensation stippling the back of her neck, eliciting a grimace. This wasn't right! They'd figured the Dai Li would show up quickly, but this was _too_ sudden - like they were waiting for something. Maybe not necessarily the pair of drenched Freedom Fighters taking off on stolen ostrich horses, but either way, it was a pain in the ass.

Two more rock pillars ruptured the ground from beneath, leaving a much narrower opening in the middle of the road; Smellerbee nosed her ostrich horse between the gap only to push once again towards the left side of the street as another pillar erupted shortly afterwards, pebbles and dust flicking her skin.

From behind her, she heard Longshot drawing his bow taut; two arrows zipped past Bee's head, so close that she felt the breeze as they went by. Two rock spires jutted upwards, stopping at mid-shin with the ostrich horses, and in her peripheral vision, Smellerbee saw both Dai Li agents jerk before they somersaulted down the slanted roofs, a blur of whipping, flowing cloth. Landing atop their own half-formed obstructions with wet crunching noises, the swordswoman might have flinched when their steeds trampled the bodies if she hadn't known they were dead beforehand, heavy talons rupturing organs, tearing flesh, and crushing bone, a cacophony of biological destruction, there and gone in less than a second, lost to the rain.

They weren't alone, though - more of them appeared on street level, springing up from the eaves of the roofs overhead. Two more - that was fine, that was okay, because if six could have killed the two Freedom Fighters by their lonesome, then two of them would be a more even fight.

"They'll be able to follow us from the rooftops," she hissed, her voice lost to all but herself. "We can't coordinate without them noticing or overhearing. Jet, what should I do...?"

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

"Where is he?"

"Hang on..." Smellerbee crouched down, the bark of the earthen-hued bough rough beneath her gloved fingertips. The scent of syrup was strong in the air, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she wished it would just _go away_. Something didn't feel right about how sweet, how delicious it smelled. Ever since the Avatar had shown up, the usual atmosphere of the forest (at least, the carefree parts) just didn't...click right. Like everything had turned serious, like some big, life changing turn was going to happen. The Duke had once taught her the anatomy of a story; how every story started as an upward slope, really, how tension kept building and building, getting thicker until it reached the climax, the highest point in the slope, the ultimate, important event (or catastrophe) that affected the lives of the characters and their world.

It felt sorta like that. Like they were on the cusp of that building tension, that the climax was just out of reach, but it would be, very, very soon. It put her and the other Freedom Fighters on edge, and so it took all her effort to keep from snapping at Pipsqueak to keep his voice down, because even when he murmured it was easy to pick up, could spoil their ambush attempt.

Narrowing her eyes, Smellerbee swept the barren, dirt path cutting through the forest floor below, adobe red and weaving between the trees. No sign of their target yet.

"I dunno. This guy passes through here every week - and all he's doing is taking a walk. He ain't even going to get supplies." Pipsqueak glanced up at her from his tree, easily within jumping distance, and shook his head. "I guess if Jet says he has it coming, though..."

"He's still Fire Nation, either way." She grit her teeth, shaking her head. "Jet's right. Besides, if we gotta mug some geriatric sack of crap to get the Avatar and his little Waterbending floozy to help us...Jet's been trying to find a way to get the Fire Nation out of Gaipan at _least_ since I joined the Freedom Fighters."

She fell silent, and Pipsqueak didn't respond; across the way, so tiny that they were just specks, Jet and the Water Tribe warrior - Sokka? - perched on another tree, standing on two separate branches.. Smellerbee could see them whispering, but exactly what they were saying to each other, she couldn't tell.

The air _still_ felt too thick. Unbearably so.

"...You can feel it too, can't you?" Pipsqueak mumbled, as if he'd read her mind. He frowned. "Something big's gonna happen. I dunno if it's going to be good or bad, but it's still there."

Smellerbee drew a slow breath, her chest and throat tingling. "Yeah."

"What do you think it's gonna be...?"

She shook her head again. "I might be good at reading people, but I'm no fortune teller. All we can really do at this point is hope for the best."

"'Fate will throw caltrops in your path if she wants to.'"

She snerked, her mouth curling into a grin. Pipsqueak made a pretty good philosopher despite his lack of finesse with words, and hearing it brought a sense of familiarity back to her world. It helped break up the tension.

"Thanks, Pipsqueak. I needed that."

"No problem, Bee." From the corner of her vision, Smellerbee saw Pipsqueak's frown melt away, turning into a broad, toothy grin.

They paused, and the swordswoman fidgeted. The old man was running late. Maybe Jet saw him from his branch...

From his direction, a low, clipped whistling rode through the air; bird calls, the safest and least conspicuous way to pass messages from afar. They'd developed their own code exclusively for subversive purposes, in case of ambushes like this.

'We're in position and ready to strike.'

Cupping her hands over her mouth, Smellerbee started to whistle, using the left to cut it off at the right intervals. 'We are too. Do you guys know where he was coming from? Pipsqueak and I can't spot him.'

Pipsqueak glanced over at her for a second before bringing his attention back to the path. On Jet's branch, Sokka took his machete and impaled the tree's trunk with it, pressing his ear up against the pommel. Huh...that looked like a pretty neat trick. Smellerbee might not care for the warrior, but he probably knew a thing or two about tracking that she didn't. She might as well take advantage of his presence, and seeing as Jet was doing that already...

After a moment, Jet whistled a response, and Smellerbee felt a wicked grin cross her face.

"'He's coming. Get ready to pounce.'"

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

Inspiration struck, a bolt of lightning from the tumultuous sky, in the form of a memory - not as old or dusty as the memories had been lately, but aged enough so that Smellerbee looked back on it and saw a different person from who she had become. The brief revere had given way to the answer she needed; looping the ostrich horse's reins around her wrists, the younger Freedom Fighter repeated the motion she had cast six moons ago and started to whistle.

To Longshot's credit, the archer picked up Smellerbee's message instantly; he juked out in front of the swordswoman before tugging on the reins of his steed, cutting a wide arc into the side-alley the pair had initially planned to take to get to Ba Sing Se's entrance. His ostrich horse kicked up clouds of dirt as it pulled the turn, and Smellerbee had to twist her head away momentarily to avoid going blind. Through the cloud of dust, she saw one of the Dai Li break off and go after Longshot, leaving the last one to her.

Once beyond the dust, Smellerbee shot a narrow gaze forward again, thanking her headband for keeping the rain and her hair out of her eyes. The ground swelled beneath her ostrich horse's feet before rupturing; she pulled back on the reins, making the beast rear back as it ran. These pillars came out at an angle, and the beast had enough common sense in its head to follow the Freedom Fighter's direction and run up along the protrusions; gravity again threatened to yank her off the saddle, but she squeezed her legs against the it and the beast's haunches, clenching the reins beneath a white-knuckled grip. It sprang up at the spire's peak, and then they were airborne, time crawling to a standstill - it was like free-falling, the wind forcing her cheeks back, making her grin with sheer physics, the rain cold on her face, her scalp, through her clothes. She saw the Dai Li agents, two of them - both on the nearest roof, one waiting for her, one chasing after Longshot - and she reached over her shoulder, wrapping her fingers around the hilt of one of Jet's swords. She pulled it out of its clasp, and time sped up again. The ostrich horse landed hard on the roof, kicking up dust and shards of stone, jarring Smellerbee, but she held tight, refused to get thrown off, especially this late in the game.

"No underestimatin' you guys this time," she murmured, leaning in close to the back of her ostrich horse's neck, its musky scent overwhelming. If she meant the Dai Li or Jet's swords, though, she couldn't tell - it'd just slipped out and, and there was no time, no time to think, just react. She pulled back on her mount's reins, causing it to rear back and neigh; it charged again, galloping across the roofs, veering towards the Dai Li. He fired off the individual joints on his rock gloves, charcoal studs soaring through the air; a sweep of Jet's sword reduced the rocks to powder. She used the hook of the blade to snare his ankle and allowed the ostrich horse to do the rest, causing the Dai Li to sprawl backwards, tumbling down the slope of tiles.

He recovered, digging his fingertips into the tiles, keeping him from falling into the street; he vaulted back up to his feet, landing in a crouch, charging at Smellerbee. She flicked the reins, causing the beast to grind to a halt; she jumped up onto her feet, balancing precariously on the saddle before springboarding off, flipping in the air and planting two heels into the man's chest, kicking up an exploding spray of water, like Longshot had earlier. Landing hard on her back, grunting when the tiles dug into her shoulders, she rolled up into a crouch before he could push himself upright, planting one knee on his chest. She brought the diamond-razor pommel down, setting it against the man's neck, pressing lightly against his skin. A drop of blood swelled around the pommel's point before disappearing as a crimson trail, washed out by the rain.

The Dai Li stared - jaw agape, eyes white and distant - and Smellerbee felt a smirk curling along the lower half of her face. "Who the hell are you?" the agent asked, his voice low and hoarse.

"I'm a Freedom Fighter. S'all you need to know." She tightened her grip on the hilt, her voice becoming hushed and threatening, so that it almost blended in with the pattering of the rain on the rooftops. "You know Long Feng?"

The Dai Li nodded, mouth working to form words that didn't come to pass.

"You tell him to sleep with one eye open from now on. One day, we'll come back from beyond the grave to get revenge for our fallen friend." Leaving him alive _could_ be a mistake - he could get up, attack her with her back turned...but it would be worth the risk, if it meant sending him this message.

"But Long Feng has fallen from power!"

Smellerbee's grin widened, baring her teeth and narrowing her eyes. "So Aang managed to get him arrested? Good. But I'm feeling cold-hearted, so amuse me and pass my sentiments to him anyway. I'll break into a jail cell and kill him if it comes down to that; it's just a matter of _when_."

"No...the - the Fire Nation invaded Ba Sing Se. The Earth King is gone and Long Feng consigned defeat at the hands of Princess Azula. The Avatar - "

The - wait, what? Her grin faltered, morphed into a scowl, and she felt more than willed her hand towards the small of her back, to the hilt of the new knife Longshot had bought her. She growled and thrust the pommel of Jet's sword into the roof, impaling it, and had her knife out in a flash, pressing it up against the man's Adam's apple. "The Fire Nation? I swear, if you're bullshitting me, I'll eviscerate you on the spot." It was a flicker of irony that Smellerbee realized that, posthumously, Jet was right, the Fire Nation had come to Ba Sing Se - but, no, that couldn't be the truth, it was just, just a psychological tactic, trying to screw with her head, trying to -

The Dai Li swallowed. "It's true, I swear by the Spirits! Th-th-the Avatar is dead. Prince Zuko killed him in the catacombs of Old Ba Sing Se, and the Fire Nation's military force is coming to occupy the area within the next week. The citizens of the city don't know what's happened, and the Avatar's friends and the Earth King fled after the fight."

Aang's face flickered through Smellerbee's mind - bald, wide-eyed, a couple years younger than she was, with a blue arrow tattoo running along the back and top of his head, ending at his brow and pointing at the bridge of his nose. It was a distant image - from the first time the two had met, back in the Forest (he'd been so serious when they crossed paths again in Ba Sing Se), and even then Smellerbee had never known the boy well. But - but Aang had still been the Avatar, the balance of all things in nature...

...the one, true hope left for the world to see an end to the war against the Fire Nation.

Just as Jet had been the lantern of hope for the Freedom Fighters, Aang stood on identical ground for the entire world.

The Avatar. The last Airbender.

Dead.

The Dai Li rambled now, how the Fire Nation was coming, how they'd be taking over Ba Sing Se, how their army would invade the Impenetrable City in a matter of minutes with the Dai Li's help, but the words were just background noise - a white, panicked buzzing the Freedom Fighter brushed away. It was time to leave this damned place, and the reward for letting the man pinned beneath her walk away from the encounter no longer outweighed the risk. With a quick slash, the man's voice cut out, words no longer spewing from his disgusting mouth, replaced by a wet, low gurgle. Smellerbee rose to her feet, and the man clapped his hands to his neck, mouth curling, color draining from his face - he wasn't a threat anymore. She turned towards the waiting ostrich horse and hauled herself up onto the saddle, slick and cold under her butt.

She flicked the reins, and her mount took off across the rooftops; along the way, she passed by another Dai Li corpse, arrows lodged in its arms, legs - and a final one jutting from his neck. Good.

It took less than a minute of travel to reach the small hole in the wall on the very rim of the Lower Ring; a shallow ravine had been carved into the stone, used to drain rain and sewage outward and beyond the reaches of the city. Longshot stood beside the entrance, his own ostrich horse snorting as it examined the flowing water. He had dismounted while waiting in order to tie down the supplies he'd carried with him, the tarp rolled into a tight bundle.

"I saw your handiwork up on the roofs. Were you followed?" Smellerbee asked, trying hard to keep her voice - her face - even, if for no other sake than for her own. If she showed a sign of weakness here, now, then it would all burst outward - Jet, Aang, their new life - and she wasn't sure if she could muster the strength to put it all back in again. She'd...she'd overflow. That was a good word for it.

Longshot glanced up at her, his eyes glistening and expression grave. They were in the clear. But she seemed...off, somehow. He couldn't really figure out what. He hiked an eyebrow - he'd managed to pick up on Smellerbee's forced tone, and she let a curse fall internally. Was she okay? Did she get hurt in the fight? It sounded like -

"I'm fine," she snapped, twisting her head so that her gaze rested on something, anything other than him; she felt him curl away from her, just the slightest amount, affronted by her attitude. She wanted, she really wanted to apologize, to open herself up and let everything pour out to him, to overflow, but now just wasn't the time. They needed to get far beyond the city's limits, beyond the outer wall. "Let's just - let's go. We have to get far, far away from this terrible place and figure out our next plan."

Longshot gave a furtive nod and finished strapping down the supplies before clambering back on top of his ostrich horse. When he was ready, they ushered their steeds into the awaiting pitch of the tunnel, where the sound of rainfall became distant and only the sloshing of the beasts trudging through the water rebounded off the narrow, freezing, stone walls.

A light shone in the distance - Ba Sing Se's walls were not so impenetrable after all, if one knew where to look for holes.


	4. Book 2, Chapter 4

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book 2: Escaping Ba Sing Se**

**Chapter 4: Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-2-4-133083458

As an additional bit of note-ism, Sio had previously illustrated part of this chapter; you can check out both pages at the following links!

**When Smellerbee met Longshot, Page 1:**

.com/art/Where-Words-Fail-01-99284442

**When Smellerbee met Longshot, Page 2:**

.com/art/Where-Words-Fail-02-99284825

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

Like all Freedom Fighters, her memories became charred and sooty as they became older.

What was easy to recall at five years old had turned into a chore at fourteen; just at the cusp of her mind, she could remember something about - nice dresses, fancy hairdos, learning proper manners - a flickering notion, at the fringes of memory and growing distant still. Specifics eluded her, but she knew that she'd come from a well-to-do background. She'd had a family - one bound by blood, anyhow, but Jet and Longshot and the rest had proven themselves to be more worthy of the title - and, in the back of her mind, remembered having a pet. A baby rabbiroo, she thought, or else a long-eared gerbil. That, too, had been lost to the ashes of time, and any reflection on the creature came in sepia tones with frayed, crisped edges.

She remembered singing - remembered adults (her parents?) telling her that, despite her tomboyish nature, she had a voice like golden bells chiming on a warm, sunny day. That maybe if she could act more like a proper lady, she would be able to truly do her family proud.

Vivid imagery didn't completely escape her, though, and it was with a quirk of irony that she remembered the destruction of that old life better than any other aspect of it. The scent of burning wood always lingered somewhere inside her nose, and with it came charred tapestries, singed paintings, and the sound of people - animals - shrieking as the fire consumed them.

The heat had seared her lungs - the smoke, scarring her throat. She could still scream and holler, it wasn't like they'd cut a vocal chord...but when she spoke, it came out hushed, like a spider-snake choking on a baby rattle, and her singing voice no longer reminded people of golden bells or sunny days.

She couldn't tell which loss upset her more, and suspected that she wouldn't be able to figure it out until well into her adulthood.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Nine years ago - Jin Se Qiang_

"Eww! That's icky." Jin Se Qiang wrapped her lanky arms around her torso and scratched at her forearms with chipped, filthy nails. She made a face, framed by curled locks of brown hair which had, at one point, been done up into a bun that let only her fringe hang free. She and her friend, another girl about her age, hid in a small alcove in the tunnel, sneakin' away so the taskmasters wouldn't catch them talking. You always got punished if you spoke in the mines, but they didn't see each other anywhere else, and they _needed_ to talk, to speak to each other, or else she'd go mad. "Why would you let someone - especially from the Fire Nation - do that sorta thing to you?"

"He - he promised me more food. _Clean_ food. Extra blankets at night." The other girl shifted her gaze down to the rough floor of their cave. "Jin Se Qiang's not digging."

"Neither are you," Jin Se Qiang pointed out, both blunt and piercing at the same time, making the other girl flinch. Of course she'd start addressing Jin Se Qiang in the third person - a sickeningly cute habit she'd brought with her, one that still made Jin Se Qiang want to hunch up her shoulders and hiss.

Heat pressed in on all sides, sweltering, disgusting - like an oven in here, so many slaves smushed in close to each other, working, working, working. The pungent scent of body odor clogged Jin Se Qiang's nose up - somebody, someone before this life, someone she couldn't remember, had tagged the odor with the word "ripe," and that mystery person whose face came before the mines and had vanished somewhere inside couldn't have been more spot-on. Ripe. It smelled like ripe people down here.

A'course, that wasn't without reason; digging for coal and precious metals for hours on end, the sound of pick-axes ringing non-stop in your ears, of shovels scraping and scratching piles of rock, of chains jangling. All that justified the stench, let alone what it did to your hearing. The noise slammed your ears, attacked 'em, and some days you'd go back to the slaves' quarters part deaf because if it. The clothes did little to comfort you, either; itchy, stiff, caked with dirt and dark red, almost black splotches, the shirts always two or three sizes too large. That happened when your stuff came second-hand from other slaves.

"I know. I'm worried that they'll catch you," the girl said, bringing Jin Se Qiang's mind away from her offended senses.

"And I'm worried about what _they're_ doing to _you_." Jin Se Qiang pursed her lips and scrutinized her dirt-laden friend.

"I'll be...okay." The girl bit her lower lip; she had mousy, brown hair, a narrow head, and a face that had been beautiful at one point; now, though, it was marred with soot and ash and had gone pale from so much time in the mines. Jin Se Qiang saw her eyes glossing over with pending tears. "They might rough me up if they find me not working, but the commanding officer will keep them from hurting me. He likes me, you know. They won't be so gentle with Jin Se Qiang."

Jin Se Qiang frowned. "I just don't see a reason to throw your body at them like meat to a pack of hungry beaver wolves. We're stronger'n that."

"Maybe you are, but you're a lot stronger than most of the adult slaves here. You're a lot stronger than most of the taskmasters, too. Just consider yourself lucky that the ones who like girls think you're too boyish, and the ones who like boys know you don't have the proper parts."

The other girl has turned her head almost completely to the side by this point; were Jin Se Qiang's questions, her accusations, so unbearable that eye-contact had become impossible? That she would, she'd call her out, call her _boyish_ out the side of her mouth, without even looking at her? Rage, like bubbling lava, rose up inside of her and threatened to spill over, and, and, she _knew_ she shouldn't, she didn't have any other friends here, but she couldn't help herself. Jin Se Qiang lunged, throwing herself at her friend with a roar, voice hot and raw in her throat; they both tumbled from their hiding spot, out into the main body of the mine tunnel, the ground digging into her fingers, her shoulders, her arms, rough and hard and unmoving.

They rolled, and Jin Se Qiang landed hard on her stomach; she whirled around, teeth bared, saw the other girl struggling to push herself up, and, and before she could, Jin Se Qiang had scrambled over to her, fists whipping through the air, hitting the girl's face, ears, shoulders, chest, and the girl cried, bringing her hands up to shield herself. "Jin Se Qiang, _stop_! Please!"

Most of the surrounding slaves ignored the brawling girls, chipping away at the charcoal-colored walls with their pick-axes; Jin Se Qiang felt a few of them casting only sideways glances at the children, but they didn't want to risk bringing down the wrath of the taskmasters. They were too weak, to scared to fight against those that pilfered family and innocence and voice as if it were their given right.

The young tomboy swung her tiny fists and feet at her companion, warm, sticky blood welling up around her knuckles. Whether it belonged to Jin Se Qiang or the other girl, she couldn't tell; all she could tell was that her voice rebounded off the narrow, hot passage, a shrill scream of protest rising up from the small form beneath her.

"Take it back! Take it back! I'm not boyish, I'm not - "

"Shut up!"

Crying, the smaller girl rolled out of Jin Se Qiang's merciless pummeling, only in time for strong hands to grab Jin Se Qiang under the arms; flailing, crying, screaming, Jin Se Qiang wriggled free of the grasp of her captors. She lunged for the girl one last time as she was scrabbling up to her feet, and Jin Se Qiang pushed her hard from behind.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

She didn't remember the mousy-haired girl falling, really, or how she tripped and whirled around to face her, or the sound she made when she landed on the twisted stalagmite that jutted mercilessly from the ground; she was more than keenly aware of the eyes plastered to her, from both her fellow slaves and their keepers alike. And her mouth, curled into a near-perfect circle, an **O**, blood spilling from the corner and dribbling down her chin -

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember that girl's face, or her name, or how, exactly they'd come to know each other. Though that final picture - the girl, her mouth stretched out into that **O** - stuck with her, every time she tried scrolling the picture up, her face disappeared into a fog, blurred by years of torture and missions with the Freedom Fighters.

Which was funny. You'd figure that your first kill would be the most vivid.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Six years ago - Little No-Name_

They'd regret the day they chained her up, thinking it would control her.

They'd regret the notion of threatening her fellow slaves, thinking it would tame her.

They'd regret taking her name, thinking it would convert her.

They'd regret starving her, thinking it would break her.

They'd regret turning her into a killer, thinking they could use her.

Standing on a cold, grassy hill high above the open-aired encampment that had once contained her, rain hammered down from the cold, unyielding night sky, seeping into the metal shackles still clinging to her wrists; it would only make the rash worse, but that was okay. She'd fought for her freedom and she had _earned_ it, spirits damn them all. The precipitation threatened to extinguish the flames roaring within the metal boundaries of the encampment, and if it kept pissing down like this, then it'd only take...she figured a half hour, at most, but her capacity for measuring time had been lost in the mines. A pillar of black smoke billowed upward into the sky; if it had been a clear night, the soot would have obscured the stars and moon anyway. The fire cast glowing, flickering, orange light on the grass, on the nearby trees, enraged, a testament, a monument to the chaos she'd unleashed in order to get this far. In order to get to this hill, and soon, the woods, away from here, from the taskmasters, from the Fire Nation.

She wasn't sure where she'd go after that. She didn't have a place to belong; she'd just have to go forward and hope to find her way.

Drenched, soaked to the bone, her hair hung in ratty, tangled, mud-colored clumps that stretched down past her shoulders, had started sticking to the side of her head. Her shirt - the same crusty, stiff, rough sack she'd been wearing ever since being taken by the Fire Nation - although absolutely sopping, the water didn't wash away the muddy brown backwash or the maroon splatters that had covered most of her torso. (It did miracles for the fresher stains on her skin, though - others' blood, washed away, gone, lost to the storm, pink rivulets that trailed down her shins, across her bare feet, vanishing into the grass.) Chains dangled down from her shackles, only about a foot long now, the edges pockmarked and chipped, as if somebody had stricken them repeatedly between two rocks in order to break them.

As she had.

"Huh, well...I'll be damned."

She whirled, her chains and hair whipping around her, sending rivulets sliding down her face; she brought one arm up, ready to defend herself, her other hand drifting towards the hem of her pants - the pressure of a knife pressing against her thigh served as some sort of defensive comfort, and whoever it was that snuck up on her had better be ready to start breathin' through their belly buttons.

Behind her, on the fringe of the woods that stood at the peak of the hill, stood three boys; older, all of them, not...not _adults_, but that didn't matter, the older slave children bullied the younger ones in the mines (not her, though, they didn't go _near_ her), and if these three didn't know to leave her alone, she'd, well, she'd _show_ them what she could do. The one in the middle was tallest - he had dark brown, almost black hair, with sharp eyebrows and a tanned face, wearing a dust-red tunic and part of an Earth Kingdom soldier's armor on his hip. He had a twig clenched between his teeth, a smirk on his face - brown eyes swept the scene she'd left behind her, and she could see them reflecting the firelight even from this range. He had two swords strapped to his back - if they _were_ swords, their hand guards were...weird, shaped like moons before they went dark, with pommels that looked like diamonds. He had his attention to the ruins of the encampment, one fist planted on his hip and the other arm limp at his side.

"We were plannin' on hitting this encampment all week," he said. He planted his feet far apart and moved his arms up (she tensed, ready to fight) and clasped his hands behind his head, casting a disparaging glance down at the flaming remains. The scent of burning metal, burning people permeated the air, flitting in through her nose, and the heat of the fire rose up to rake her back despite the chill cast by the rain. "Guard was tight, though - anything we tried would'a gotten us caught."

She said nothing, keeping her head bowed low, gaze plastered on the center boy. He was tall for his age and had an angled face. He wasn't that old at all, but he still seemed almost...disappointed?...that the encampment had been destroyed before he could get to it.

Allowing her gaze to flicker only briefly, the girl tried to take in the other boys on the sides. One had a squat body and a tanned, mocha-colored face; his onyx-black hair had been done up into a topknot, and a grimace ordained his jaw as if he had been born with it there. He crossed his arms over his chest, massive things that looked like they had enough power to smoosh her head...but he was stocky. He'd be slow, and she'd spent enough time learning how to outmaneuver people three times her size that Dumpy wouldn't be able to lay a beefy finger on her.

The third boy seemed to be the opposite of the second; as tall as his leader and gaunt enough to almost match _her_ lanky frame, his carrot-shaped face stood out pale and white against the murky backdrop behind him. He wore a dark wood short bow over one shoulder with a patchwork quiver full of arrows over the other, a straw cone hat pushed up on his head. His eyes - warm, brown...human eyes. So much happened behind those eyes, and peering into them was like reading a scroll, only she could actually make sense of the scribbly shapes that (apparently) made words. Of the trio, only this one seemed to have his attention fixed solely on her; normally, she would have squirmed under his gaze, but his was one so warm, so welcoming, that she didn't really feel the urge to fidget.

"Okay." The one with the twig drew a deep breath, casting a quick glance around, soaking in his surroundings. "...Sneers."

"Yeah?" Dumpy asked, gaze flickering from the fire to his leader.

"You're with me. We're gonna check for more survivors."

"Shouldn't we ask the kid?" Dumpy - Sneers - gestured vaguely in her direction, causing her to flinch; Twig, noticing the motion, hiked an eyebrow before nodding.

"Wouldn't be a bad idea, but you know how younger kids are after getting out of scrapes like this." He shook his head, his earthen hair whipping and shaking free droplets of rain. "He might be too traumatized."

Turning his attention to her, he took a slow, cautious step in her direction, and, and that was _enough_ out of him, she backed away and hunched her shoulders, hissing, curling her fingers as she inched her hand closer to the dagger. She felt her mouth working, teeth gnashing - wanted to scream, _back off, don't come near me, I'll cut you just like I cut everyone else that tried to stop me,_, but the glistening swords on his back paralyzed her voice, and all she could do was keep her hackles raised and bare her teeth, like a pissed off pygmy puma. Twig's step faltered, only slightly, but she'd seen it, she'd thrown him off his guard. "Hey - it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just need your help." He raised his hands up, took another step forward, and, and, no more, don't believe the older ones, they lied to you just like the adults did, her arm jerked and she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the knife hidden in the brim of her pants -

Before she could act, before Twig took move any closer, the archer in the straw hat stepped out in front of him, planting a hand on Twig's shoulder; Twig stopped short, greeting Straw Hat's gaze. "What? She might be able to help us - "

Straw Hat's brow furrowed - not a lot, in fact it was hard to even see, but he still did it and she could understand what he was telling Twig, even though he wasn't actually saying it with his words.

Twig and Dum - Sneers - should go investigate the camp. He'd stay with the boy and calm him down.

After a moment, Twig crooked his head and held his hands up, sighing and grinning at the same time. "Alright. Kid's in your hands now." Twig smirked and backed off, glancing once again at the girl. "I'm sorry I scared you."

With that, he gestured at Sneers; the two boys went around the archer and the girl and picked their way down the hill, being careful not to stumble on the slick grass. She watched them until they vanished through the front gates of the encampment, which had been blown forcefully off their hinges and lay in the grass, twin scraps of gnarled, rust-colored metal that shimmered under the rain's touch.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Alone again, almost...she cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the archer, and he still had his round, chocolate-colored eyes affixed to her; studying her, but not in the same hungry, leery way the taskmasters and adult slaves did. (That's what really had started the...she glanced down at the camp, thoughts flickering to the obese slob who had tried to do the same thing to her that they'd done to that girl without a face or a name and a big **O** for a mouth. He hadn't even been able to lay a hand on her.) She could see the questions he wanted to ask dancing behind his eyes, a smoldering reflection of the fire at the base of the hill; who was she, why was she here, how could the Fire Nation take somebody so young and chain them up? It wasn't _right_, it wasn't fair that somebody like her should lose so much.

Being able to read him so clearly didn't seem that strange to the girl; it came naturally, like breathing, and while he appeared reluctant to approach her - cautious and watching, ever-watching with those soft eyes - she understood that it was out of respect for her, that he had seen further than Twig had. The girl felt nothing to fear from the mute archer, and contemplated approaching him - mustering up the courage to speak to him - when she picked up the faint, yet pungent smell of lychee nuts. _He_ had some.

She pursed her lower lip and ran her eyes up and down him one more time...and her stomach growled, a fierce protest to the thought of denying herself food, _real_ food, not that sick slop and creamed corn they'd served her when they felt nice enough. Drawing a deep breath, she exhaled through her nose and tromped across the cool grass, over to the archer, her eyes wandering up, finding and sticking to his.

"You got food."

He blinked, craning his neck back, his eyes searching her. His mouth worked into a tiny frown, and the girl held out a hand - he better .

"I'm hungry. Gimme."

One of his eyebrows rose up; he'd worked hard picking these - they came from the highest branches in the forest. They were sweeter there.

"I don't _care_ if you picked 'em yourself. I want 'em." The girl stomped the ground - if he didn't fork 'em over soon...

This time, both eyebrows shot up and he tipped his hat back even further, a curious frown etched onto his narrow jaw. She could understand him...?

She walked towards him again, stopping less than a yard away. Planting her tiny fists on her hips and jutting out her lower jaw, she stuck her tongue out at him and sniffed. "_A'course_ I can understand you. An' I understand that you aren't givin' me your lychee nuts. An' I'm hungry, so you gotta share."

His mouth fell slightly agape, and she knew she'd pierced some kinda gap in his armor; wordlessly, he reached under the dust-red mantle tied around his neck and withdrew a small draw bag, bulging and lumpy, from his tunic. The scent became more prominent, like hickory and cinnamon; she snatched the bag from his open-fingered palm, her arm a dirt-encrusted orange blur even in her own eyes. Her fingers worked much more nimbly than she figured they would, and the bag's mouth opened to reveal its small, orb-shaped treasures with a few quick motions. She snatched up a handful of the fruits with curled, dirty fingers and popped them into her mouth one-by-one. The sweet skin of the snacks oozed flavor along her tongue, bursting and spraying the inside of her mouth with its succulent juices, and it took all of her will to keep from scarfing them.

"Mffh. Fhanksh."

The archer, still stunned, nodded and ran a hand along the back of his head; the girl chewed up and swallowed her mouthful, allowing a low, rumbling belch to escape her lips. "So...what's your name...?"

He blinked, as if unsure of how to answer; finally, he narrowed his eyes and met her gaze, waiting, expectantly, for the answer to come from her lips. It was a test, she could tell; she stared, but only for a moment, before breaking out into a gale of youthful laughter.

"Longshot is a _silly_ name."

He grinned.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

Meeting Longshot had been like finding someone who speaks the same language as you in a crowd in a foreign country; incredibly unlikely, and incredibly moving. She had no idea what would become of that night - how she and Longshot would become best friends, how he would try teaching her to read and write (and ultimately winding up frustrated by her recalcitrance), how he would wash her when she'd been sprayed by a skunk-bear, how he would care for her when she'd caught the flu that wiped out almost every Freedom Fighter, how he'd try in vain to pluck that splinter out of her finger even though she refused to let him touch it...

...how he'd caught her when she tried to fly, because she really _had_ the right altitude, and if she'd maybe tied a few more leaves onto her arms, she could have lifted off the branch, the ground, and soared through the forest as easily as an Airbender.

How being with him made her feel like she was flying, regardless of how high a branch she jumped from.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Six years ago - Little No-Name_

"...a name? What's wrong with the one she has?"

Longshot crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. A small gyration of the head added a nice little insult Little No-Name was fairly sure Jet missed, but it made her snicker nonetheless.

"Little No-Name is nice, but...it don't got flair." She kicked her legs and leaned back on the wooden bench, her feet not quite reaching the platform below the trio. She rolled her eyes up to the orange-red canopy hanging overhead, a small grin playing across her face. "Doesn't stand up to names like Longshot, Jet or - kinda - Sneers. How long did you guys know each other before you gave each other your names?"

"I called him Mute for about a week before coming up with 'Longshot.'" Jet crossed his arms and bowed his head forward, his wheat stalk bobbing. "He still refuses to tell me his nickname for me, though. It's been driving me insane for years."

"Well, I've been here for a few seasons and you haven't even tried giving _me_ a Freedom Fighter name. Even though you're training me to be one of you - even though I'm better with most swords than you." Little No-Name smirked and ran a hand through her hair. Summer had set in, bringing with it stifling, balmy weather; while the other children and core members of the Freedom Fighters were no longer left in the dark about whether or not she was a girl, it didn't stop her from being..._boyish_ (every time she thought of that word, some kinda dark, inky, burning sensation plucked at her brain - she couldn't really figure out why, it wasn't like the term had ever hurt her before. She pushed it away, same as she had every time beforehand, leaving the mysterious darkness unanswered). As such, she had chopped off most of her shaggy, moss-brown hair so that only a short, prickly layer remained.

(Distantly, words clogged her mind - foggy, covered in soot, the voice lost to static though the meanings were clear as day. _"Don't play in the mud _!" " _, a proper lady does not belch after meals!" "Speak only when spoken to, _! Think of your father's status!"_ and _"Your singing voice is so beautiful, but if only you could act more dignified, _."_ She ignored these. Whoever had plugged her brains with that nonsense was long gone...garglemesh meant for somebody else, someone that wasn't her, choked by the same ash that had taken her voice away. There were different people in her life that weren't so hell-bent on making her something she wasn't.)

"I just don't think you're ready yet, is all." Jet's indignant tone invoked a small shake of the head from Longshot, and Little No-Name bristled.

"I think you're being overprotective," she spat, defiant anger seeping up through her body. "And sexist. (Longshot taught me that word.) I've seen how you stare the teen girls in the village. You may be on your way to mastering those swords on your back, but I already know how to use a bunch of different, ones. I can handle my own in a fight, Jet, just let me go on a mission and prove myself!"

Jet harrumphed, but did not give further response; when met with a querying gaze from Longshot, Jet shrugged and mumbled, "I'd get up and stalk away, but it's too damn hot. Sneers appreciates my company."

"I don't think Sneers wants to deal with your attitude, anyway. Your _sexist_ attitude."

"Sneers isn't a girl."

"Had me fooled. He's a complete wimp."

Longshot snorted, bowing his head low enough to obscure his eyes with the brim of his hat - and the faintest ghost of a smirk floated across his lips as he shared his own personal opinion of the squat monk. Little No-Name drew a sharp breath before admonishing the silent archer.

"How very obscene, Longshot!" She laughed, and Longshot's smirk broadened.

Jet snorted and flopped backwards. "Okay, then...since I'm not gonna get let off the hook, and I'm curious - what name were you thinking of?"

"I..." Little No-Name pursed her lips, gaze flitting to Jet quickly before turning towards the ground. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I don't know, actually."

"See?" Jet crooked his head and smirked - he had the obnoxious habit of finding his answers in Little No-Name's silence. It cheesed her off, and she felt her shoulders bunching up in irritation. "You're not even ready to name yourself ye - "

Longshot had one.

Little No-Name and Jet turned to the archer, who leaned back against the bench with one arm slung over the back, sweeping the air with the fingers on his other hand, a light grin playing across is face. Besides, it wasn't Freedom Fighter tradition for one to name themselves. Somebody else always had to give the name out. That's what made them important. And he just so happened to have an idea. He figured...

Little No-Name felt a smirk wriggling onto her face; stretching, resting her hands behind her head, her hair prickling her palms, she said, "I like it."

"I don't get it." Jet narrowed one eyebrow, frowning. "I can't read him like you can. What's he saying?"

Little No-Name opened her mouth, but before she could relay Longshot's message, the words tumbled out from a different - more hushed - source.

"_'Float like a flutterfly...sting like a smellerbee.'_ That's what she reminds me of when I see her fighting." Longshot shrugged and crooked his head to the side, a smile ghosting across his face.

Jet and Little No-Name's eyes went wide; she had only known him for a few months, but this was the first time she'd heard Longshot say _anything_. Judging by how Jet's mouth hung open, the same thing held for him - only it had taken almost two years for this to come to pass. Longshot's voice was - quiet, subdued, fitting perfectly with his personality; she felt heat rising up into her ears, her cheeks, because it was actually kinda...handsome.

"Well." Jet cleared his throat and hawked, spitting a loogey off into the distance. He pretended to look to the side, into the trees - to be disinterested - but Little No-Name knew enough about body language to tell that their leader had been humbled, and felt nothing but pride for what Longshot had just done. "I guess if it's important enough to get Longshot to speak (for the first time since we've met, I should mention, you jerk), we oughtta give it a shot, huh?"

This time, Smellerbee - her old name already forgotten - was the one to grin.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

She hadn't ever assumed that Longshot _couldn't_ speak, because he did...it just wasn't verbal. You only didn't notice if you were ignorant, if you didn't bother listening to it; he wasn't stupid, he wasn't mute...he was just really quiet. It lent itself to his style, to the charm that made him who he was, and that was just as important to her as his presence.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Five years ago - Smellerbee_

She loved music night; sure, the Freedom Fighters weren't necessarily the next Ba Sing Se Orchestra, but Smellerbee imagined they had a helluva lot more fun.

They all 'specialized' in one instrument or another; Jet could rock the shamisen really hard, while Sneers (grudgingly) stuck to the bongos (because Jet had goaded him into partaking); Longshot could play a stirring melody on the biwa (the only one of them with any real musical inclination, which was pretty funny given how little he spoke), while Pipsqueak would switch out between the piccolo and the triangle, the latter of which he admitted to being a lot more proficient in. Mortar and Pestle doubled up on a xylophone the Freedom Fighters had stolen from a Fire Nation convoy, made of hollowed, darkened bamboo chutes, while Viper and Piper made their mark with those foreign drums that came from around the equator, which were like hollow, metal barrels that made weird pinging noises. So many others joined in, too, it was oftentimes hard to keep up with them all.

Smellerbee liked the sungi horn, personally; it was loud and brassy and obnoxious, and even though it was _hard_ (she didn't have the lung capacity for it...yet), playing the thing was just another challenge, like learning how to use a new sword. That made it more fun, you know? Sure, it didn't have a hilt or a blade or a hand guard or a pommel, but it was metal, and it carried the same weight (and weight was important in swordplay). Instead of piercing flesh, it pierced the air - but with a floating, broken melody. She remembered enough of her past life to know how to hold a note, but...well.

Sometimes they would play songs that required somebody to sing; Pipsqueak was an incredible baritone ('incredible' being a matter of perspective), while Pestle and Mortar could really hit the high notes; Jet fell into the middle ground, and he was better than the rest, and that was it, really...some of the others took a swing at that job - but there were always three exceptions. Sneers, because he outright refused, though Pipsqueak had made it a personal project to get him to loosen up; Longshot because...well, he was Longshot; and herself, because that would bring the old times crashing down around her head, and it would hurt, and her throat and chest would tighten, and she'd lose herself to the slipknot that separated one life from the next.

She always told them that it made her throat hurt if she sang, and that did the trick. It wasn't entirely untrue.

Longshot, Jet and Sneers would look at her sometimes, though - because they knew. They were the only ones who did. They never said anything aloud, and she was grateful for that...but by the same coin, they never _had_ to. She knew what swam behind those eyes, because she'd always been good at reading people, and while she appreciated them not airing her dirty laundry, she sometimes wish they'd just let the matter drop. It wasn't like she went around trudging up _their_ pasts, feeling sorry for the people they'd been. Every Freedom Fighter had lost people they loved, that one important thing...empathizing with that wasn't outta the ordinary here. Anything that came before the Freedom Fighters only mattered to those who had experienced them.

Anyway. Music night helped her do what she'd loved doing so long ago without having to regress and get caught between two walls of icy, sharp rocks.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

It took years to break Longshot and Jet from their habit of pursuing her passively (Sneers had been easy, because after a point he just stopped caring); she just had to call them out on it, privately of course, and that did the trick, that made them back off, and...

...and it really didn't make her feel any better. She sort of wished she could take it back entirely at this point, to just _let_ them think what they would, but the Freedom Fighters didn't operate on the what-ifs and what-could-have-beens.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Three years ago - Smellerbee_

She scooped up a piece of turtle duck with her bare fingers, the broth running down the meat, warm and wet beneath her fingertips; Sheng cast her a sideways glance before picking up a pair of chopsticks he'd been holding between his knees, snapping them apart.

"Do all your friends eat like savages?" He poked the wooden bowl he held in one hand, grimacing at the lackluster appearance of the contents within. "And is this really the best meat you could find?"

"Hey, if you want to try grabbing somebody else's meat without getting caught..."

"Whoa, there."

"Up yours, you know what I meant."

Sheng gave an uncomfortable shrug, stirring his soup half-heartedly. "I'll leave the pick-pocketing and lock-picketing to you, then."

"Besides, we don't always have enough utensils for everyone back home, and there are over a dozen kids on board at any given time. It's just a part of the life." Smellerbee shrugged, popped the nugget of meat into her mouth, and leaned back on the thatched roof of the farm she and her companion had bunked out in for the night. Mostly flavorless and gamy, but it would sate her hunger while giving the swordswoman the chance to gnash her teeth on something and think. Avoiding that awful sensation of wanting to throw your stomach up so you could eat it. Starvation was _also _part of the life of a Freedom Fighter, but she wouldn't tell this Fire Nation weenie that. It'd be too personal.

The stars shimmered high above them, thousands of brilliant points of light flickering down from the ink-black sky; though it was spring, the wind was the perfect temperature - a comforting warmth that swept through her hair, brushed her cheek. The straw rough at her back, prickling her neck, she turned her attention inward; she had not been this alone in three years, and was way too used to having the other Freedom Fighters - usually Longshot - watching her back. She hadn't gone without that sense of security for far too long, and being out here - alone with only Sheng for company - made her long for a familiar face.

She swallowed the chunks of meat and grunted. "Well - not the worst turtle duck soup I've ever had, but it's edible. Given the ingredients we had to work with, you're not a bad chef. I guess I didn't give you enough credit."

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his head, his cheeks turning a crimson color that would have matched the color of his armor, had they not sold it so they could afford some more inconspicuous Earth Kingdom robes for him. "Thanks. I told you before that I think my true calling would be as a cook, and joining the military was a mistake. The Fire Nation had enough soldiers before bumbling, nervous Sheng joined up."

"Hmm." Smellerbee considered this, her lower lip pursed out. In the distance, manticadas chirruped through the night. "I think...I think you made the right choice, to be honest."

"Huh? But you said you hated the Fire Nation."

"True." Smellerbee drew a deep breath through her nose, letting it out between her teeth. "But...you ain't so bad." As much as she hated admitting it, he was the most human person from the Fire Nation I've ever come across; he'd joined under the false pretense of spreading greatness instead of destruction, it wasn't like he just hadn't know any better. Thinking these thoughts - knowing what she would be pulling when she got back to the Forest...ugh, she wasn't sure if she should be proud of or disgusted with herself. The Fire Nation were the bad guys! They'd - they'd stolen the homes and families and voices and Precious Things of the people living there, and inviting in one of the demons that had brought that destruction down on them...

Progress, though.

Smellerbee wasn't dumb. One day, the war would end, and the Fire Nation would stop being the enemy. She gave a defiant sniff, the turtle duck soup wafting up to her nose; it smelled about as delectable as it tasted, and it didn't do anything to help her sort these confusing, stupid thoughts out. Acceptance needed to start somewhere, and if - if she could start with Sheng, with this greenhorn flab bucket who had all the good intentions in the world and little capacity to follow through with them...well, it'd be better than trying to hug the Fire Lord. Even if she couldn't tell any of the Freedom Fighters about it.

Sheng allowed a smile to curl up on his round face, the expression very similar to Sneers' namesake in that it looked as if it had been carved there upon the man's birth; Smellerbee snorted in response, crossing her arms over her chest. "But don't get the wrong idea. You're still a dumbass."

"Fair enough."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

They pushed the ostrich horses until Ba Sing Se reduced to an earthen clump sticking out from the ground in the far distance, the two beasts panting and heaving. Rugged plains stretched out between the Freedom Fighters and their former prison and place of refuge. Thoughts and memories of the past kept her occupied, preventing her from dwelling on their losses.

She and Longshot pulled their ostrich horses to a halt at the edge of a sparse, ratty forest; it certainly didn't stand up to the grandeur of the Hong Ye, with ragged, almost sickly pale branches that spread out like gnarled old hands, stunted trunks and curled, dying leaves. Even in this storm, whose ferocity grew by the minute, this was the safest thing Smellerbee and Longshot would be able to find and substitute as shelter until the rain let up. (Hopefully the thunder and lightning would keep itself at bay...) The gloomy, midday light had difficulty penetrating too far into the meshed canopy, so it would keep them dry enough.

That didn't make the fact that she was absolutely soaked to the bone _again_ any less shitty. This time, there wouldn't even be a fire to help keep the Freedom Fighters warm.

Thighs numb and back sore, Smellerbee dismounted her ostrich horse and led it by the reins into the grove of trees. Longshot followed at her back, the archer casting flickering, fleeting glances over his shoulder every few seconds. Sound strategy, making sure they hadn't been followed...but at this point, Smellerbee wasn't entirely sure it had served a purpose now. The Dai Li had bigger things to deal with other than two teenagers who had escaped their damn city of walls and secrets. Longshot must have picked up on her attitude; after a few moments, he lowered his head and kept his gaze on the ground.

Still, run through the motions, Smellerbee, you've got to take charge of the situation now... "Did they follow us?" Smellerbee's voice came out terse, and she sensed the hesitation on Longshot's part in responding; at last, she picked up a minute shake of the head, and she allowed a quick, wobbling breath escape. "Good...good."

Silence overcame the two Freedom Fighters; only the sounds of the rain pattering down through the trees overhead and the brush being crunched underfoot accompanied them, and despite having Longshot for company, Smellerbee felt alone - as if a rift had grown between the two while she'd been reminiscing. Cold, empty...isolated. Worse than it had been beneath Lake Laogai, because...because the archer had been _there_, just segregated. This felt more like the opposite - while inseparable physically, it was like he'd - he'd closed himself off, locked his mind behind the metal bars.

The trees in the forest parted enough to the point where the undergrowth yielded a clearing large enough where they'd be able to rest comfortably; rain drizzled down from a gap between the trees, but that would be okay - they'd gotten by on worse, like the apartment in Ba Sing Se -

_a dusty, tiny little thing, with a draft and bad furniture and four walls and a ceiling and a floor and no branches and nothing to do, but it was home, dammit, and they'd spent two weeks waiting for the Dai Li to release him, so that he could come back, so that they could be with Jet again_

That did it, that was enough, that thought, that single concept, because, because they'd waited and waited and they finally found him only for him to be taken away again, forever, and, and, she couldn't keep it all in anymore, she felt herself start to overflow as she collapsed forward, the foliage scraping her through her clothes. She clenched her fists, felt her back, shoulders tighten, squeezed her eyes shut - it wasn't fair, it wasn't _fair_, Jet had been a part of her life for so long, a part of _all_ their lives! He was their father, their brother, their best friend, to every Freedom Fighter, to all the stray, disoriented children who had lost home, family, voice. He was too passionate, too brilliant, too unique of a person to just be _gone_, a spark extinguished by, by an _Earthbender _of all people, not a Firebender, not the enemy they'd been trained to recognize growing up, not...

She could feel Longshot hovering over her, and she knew he'd have his arms spread, fingers and palms ghosting over her shoulders, soothing her with his touch. It was like watching Jet die all over again; her, sobbing into the ground, crying - and him, so calm, so collected...

She grit her teeth and screamed hard into the ground, scraping her throat raw; dirt kicked back and lodged in her esophagus, and she heaved a dry, throaty cough, her breath catching and her body shaking. How could somebody so relevant, so important, so, so caring, just not be _there_ anymore...?

Longshot planted his hands on her shoulders, finally, and Smellerbee felt the tension slip away, just a little bit; his grip, while not painful, was firm, comforting - warm. Sobs dissolved into sniffles and hiccups, and she felt so young again - like the child in the mines, before she could kill, before she could even comprehend what the term 'enemy' meant, let alone learn the meaning only to lose sight of it.

"I'm sorry, Longshot, I'm so sorry..." Her voice wobbled and she felt her lower lip sticking out. Hot, sticky rivulets leaked from her eyes, sliding down her cheeks, vanishing into the dirt and twigs below. "It - it all caught up to me. There's just - oh, Longshot, so much, _too_ much..."

He shifted his weight, came into her field of vision; with a little difficulty, heat rising up into her face, Bee managed to bring her gaze up to meet his for a fleeting moment before turning away. He knew, oh Spirits he _knew_...Jet had been everything to everyone he'd cared for, and they had been the first, he and Longshot, and he _knew_ she'd been trying to keep everything under control, and it was so hard, he could barely function anymore either, it...

"Jet...yeah, it's Jet, but...more than that. It's everything. It's life." She drew a shuddering breath through her teeth. She tried to articulate this next part - the scrap of fatal news Longshot hadn't heard in that horrible dystopia, but, but the rational part in her mind had been turned to jelly. So - nothing to do it, no way to cushion it, no fancy words to make it sound eloquent. Just come out. Just say it. She took another breath, cold and raw, and said, "One of the Dai Li said that Aang had been killed in Ba Sing Se."

"_What_?"

She found herself staring at him again, the word still lingering on his lips; his eyes had gone wide, the corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown. Their gazes met again, briefly, before Longshot sat down hard on the ground, his arms splayed over his legs. Smellerbee looked away; as if confirming all Longshot needed to know, he bowed his head, hiding behind the brim of his hat.

After a long, painful pause, Smellerbee took a slow, steadying breath, pushing herself back into a kneeling position. She furrowed her brow - tried to, to think, to pull all the scurrying ideas together into cohesive thoughts, words, sentences...she, she wasn't the leader Jet had been. Jet would know what to do, he would have figured out how to escape from Lake Laogai sooner, would have pulled off their escape from Ba Sing Se more efficiently. He had had so much charisma, he could lead anybody he wanted to, he could manipulate the Avatar and his friends, he could inspire those he cared for, he could unite the Freedom Fighters against any cause, he -

...he could. But, he wasn't here anymore, it was just Longshot, just Smellerbee, and she had to step up to bat. Jet had been training her, teaching her how to lead, and she had still been learning when they left the forest, left that life behind to go straight, but she remembered what Jet would tell her about good ideas and how suddenly they'd crop up. Uniting the Freedom Fighters...rallying them, pulling them together...yes. Yes, that made sense. She lowered her gaze, shook her head, and said, "We need to bring back the Freedom Fighters."

Longshot glanced up at her again, an eyebrow lowered inquisitively. The ghost of a frown trudged across his narrow jaw, rain streaming down his hat, tiny rivulets of the stuff dripping down from the brim.

Was she sure? Did that - would that be the right thing to do?

"Y...yes. I'm pretty sure." Smellerbee cleared her throat and brought one hand back, around the side of her head and shaggy hair; her fingertips lighted across the smooth, leather hilts of Jet's swords. From behind, the ostrich horses scuffed the ground, snorting - and then, a massive beak filled one side of her vision, the mount she had stolen, resting its head against her own. It croaked, and...and Smellerbee shuddered, because it was weird for a creature like an ostrich horse to act like this, as if it knew what she was going through.

Did it matter, though...? It was offering her comfort, and Longshot's had crossed around to his side, ducking its head towards him...something was odd with these beasts, but taking this repose for granted felt...silly. Smellerbee brought one hand up to the opposite side of the ostrich horse's head and pressed her cheek into the other, its down warm and light against her face. "Sneers won't be too happy to see us, but once he hears what happened..."

Longshot nodded, his eyes flickering to the swords on her back before returning to the ground at his feet. They'd have to find The Duke and Pipsqueak, too, and hope that they would come along.

"Yeah. They went to Omashu, so our first stop should be there." Bee scuffed a boot against the ground. "Their problem was with Jet, anyway, so convincing them to come back into the fold won't be hard."

This elicited another nod from the mute archer, and Smellerbee could see his expression collapse; suddenly, a layer peeled away from Longshot, and Bee could see just how tired the previous events had made him. The same barriers that she'd been holding in place to keep from overflowing - crumbling, roughshod walls made of twigs and mud that sunk when she pressed her hands into them - fell away, leaving him exhausted, vulnerable. The swordswoman bowed her head and climbed up to her feet.

"You ran around Ba Sing Se for like four hours, Longshot. Take a nap, get some rest; I'll make camp and start pitching the tent, okay?"

He glanced up to her and smiled, but the warmth she had come to expect from those rare, precious treats didn't fill her up. While not hollow - the gratitude certainly was there - the swordswoman now had visible proof that a gap had formed between them. She felt something, something unfamiliar, burble up into her chest, grab at her throat, and - and all she could do was sigh. Because trying to put any more effort into _anything_ right now would make her overflow all over again. She turned, started to unsling the camping gear strapped to Longshot's ostrich horse, and gave herself to the busywork that laid ahead. It would numb her mind and keep out the emotional wringer looming just out of reach.


	5. Book 2, Chapter 5

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book 2: Escaping Ba Sing Se**

**Chapter 5: Spatula, Part 2: Isn't that great? They give me a medal for leaving a kid behind and getting out with my butt in one piece.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-2-5-133827565

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

"It's a nice night." Sokka murmured, his voice soft and unusually sullen. At least he wasn't lying; spring had hit its peak, and the air carried with it a fresh, crisp breeze. The hooting of cat owls confirmed the latter Sokka's statement - not like it made any difference to her. It just meant that part of the day got colder than the rest.

Leaning back on the ground, with her elbows propping her torso up and one leg crossed over the other, Toph relished in sweet perception; the earth told her all sorts of stories, although she wouldn't admit that, for once, she wasn't focused intently on things in the distance. Sokka's heartbeat rushed through the ground; she could feel it, even though he laid on his back - even though only her heels and elbows touched the ground directly.

"It's nice to have solid earth beneath me again," Toph said, tilting her head back and laughing. She drew slow, steady breaths and slapped the ground with an open palm, taking in the vibrations with a grin. The ground was dry and craggy; grass didn't prod at her calloused palms, but she hadn't felt any tickling the arches of her feet the entire time she had been here. The nearest tree erupted from the ground a few yards away both horizontally and vertically; it sat perched atop the cliff that gave the bay cover, so she figured vegetation didn't come much nearer than that. Behind them, water sloshed up against the jagged edge of the bay, and she could hear the boats bobbing up and down in the waves, moored for the evening.

Nausea threatened to scrape at her insides, so she shoved the thoughts away before they could grab hold. Even though they hadn't officially set sail yet, being on the boats had been an eye-opening (heh) experience, one she didn't particularly care for. They swayed, they shifted, they weren't _solid_ like the earth was. None of the others even noticed it, and that was an isolating little factoid that scrawled up her spine and made her want to bunch up her shoulders. The Water Tribe had grown up with sailing as part of their culture, and Sokka would occasionally reminisce about spear fishing in the south pole, or the time he'd done that crazy water-boaty-crash-coursey thing with Bato.

Gweh. Okay, okay, think earthy thoughts, Toph.

"Besides," she added, punching Sokka in the arm. "You need to get out of serious-Sokka mode. You're worrying too much."

"And _you_ aren't worrying enough." Still, he snorted, tone rising at the end - good, she'd made him whine. She grinned. "We need to think of a contingency plan in case Aang doesn't..."

...

Yeah. That.

"Do you think we could win this thing without him?" Sokka asked. "I mean..."

"I don't think we have a choice," Toph admitted, shrugging. She brought a finger up to her nose and started digging - there was a mighty fierce booger lodged up in there and it _needed_ to come out. "I mean, if Twinkletoes keeps napping through the rest of the war, we gotta invade the Fire Nation one way or the other. And if he's not around to kick the Fire Lord's butt, I guess it'd have to be you and me. I think we could take him."

That was a fat load of ostrich horse crap, and she knew he knew it too, but Sokka laughed anyway; she pushed herself into a sitting position and drew her knees to her chest, tapping the ground with the balls of her feet. Ants plodded away in the distance, prickling the ground with their spindly legs, and in a way they reminded Toph of super-working-boring-Sokka, busting their butts so hard to complete whatever job they'd been assigned to do that they didn't realize what else was going on around them.

Unfortunately, the moment of levity didn't wanna stick around. "Yeah, but - what if we mess up?" Toph felt Sokka sag; for a moment, it felt like he was gonna collapse under the burden of all the responsibilities he'd taken up. "I mean - there's no second chance, is there? We botch this, there's no recovering from it."

The blind Earthbender sighed and delivered another sharp, quick punch to Sokka's arm. "You're putting too much thought into this, and it's a real downer."

"Yow! Sorry, sorry - I'm just thinking realistically, is all." Sokka shrugged and crooked his head to the side, the motion much clearer with his shoulders pressed into the ground. Normally Toph had trouble perceiving motion from the chest upward, but his proximity with the earth made him easier to read. "I'll pull my head outta my butt if you stop punching me."

"Fair trade." She grinned. "Now take your mind off the invasion for a bit, and - "

Huh. Hang on a sec...

"What is it?" Sokka asked, sitting up and folding his arms over his legs.

Toph furrowed her brow and frowned, slamming a hand down on the ground, palm-down and fingers splayed. Focus, focus...okay, yeah, there. Two sets of footsteps - one big, one small, an adult and a child. Definitely nobody from the Water Tribe. The child's footsteps in particular were weighted and clumsy, as if he was carrying something too big for him - and...

"Sokka - the supply boat is the one at the end of the bay, right?"

"Yeah - why do you ask?"

Toph's cheeks tingled as a sly grin tugged on her face. "I know just the thing to pull your butt out of this Invasion Funk you're rocking. You feel like busting a couple heads?"

"Head-busting _would _be nice." He admitted.

"I think we have a couple thieves trying to liberate some supplies." She paused, crooked her head to the side - and, yeah, there wasn't any way for her to actually _tell_, but she missed meat-and-sarcasm Sokka enough to embellish a little. "I think they're making off with some of our food. They're heading towards a cave set into the cliff side."

_That_ did the trick. "I'll go get dad and some warriors - " Sokka pushed up to his feet, but Toph shushed him.

"There's just two of 'em. We can take them down ourselves...and besides, you need to get this introspective thing out of your system. Maybe a little ass whuppin' will help. It'll be fun."

He shrugged. "So long as it's not my ass that's getting whupped, I think I can go along with that."

Toph grinned. "Follow me."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Pipsqueak'd never been seaside; before the Freedom Fighters, working for his father's construction business, each job and destination had been landlocked. Then when that life burned down to the ground, he'd stuck pretty close to the forest, only traveling on occasion, like going to visit his old home, or (once) taking The Duke to his.

So, being perched on a short cliff hanging over Chameleon Bay was a devirginizing experience ('devirginizing' probably wasn't a real word, but The Duke would know if he asked...didn't feel like it, though); he'd got so accustomed to the sweet aromas of Hong Ye - syrup, honey, cinnamon, hickory - that picking up salt in the breeze put him through a loop. It dulled the air, kinda, but it wasn't bad...being stuck on the road, in the planes, now _that_ sucked. Everything smelled like dust and old and boring out there. At least the sea had some flavor to it.

He felt the sea breeze brush through his hair, and he let his eyes slide shut; not too far off, he picked up the sound of water sloshing up against the shore, slow and deep and calming, causing the boats in the distance to bump against each other, or the rocks they'd been moored against. Kinda musical, actually. If he focused on it, he could pick out the rhythm, even though it was inconsistent...but better to think about _that_ than the hunger thrashing around in his belly.

"They're Water Tribe boats, judging by the craftsmanship," The Duke murmured from beside him, scuffing the ground with a heel. "_Probably_ a band of warriors."

"It ain't like that many ships would be used to go on a cruise," Pipsqueak offered, opening his eyes again and casting his gaze up to the nighttime sky. Weather was nice tonight - cool, but not cold, and the stars sparkled extra bright. The moon hung up in the sky, a great, glimmering crescent, like one of Smellerbee's knives, and aside from a couple lanterns hanging from a few of the ships' helms, they provided the only light, making everything look shiny and silver. "They'll have food, and they can always get more if they need it."

"Nrrr." The Duke stuffed his hands in his pockets and pursed his lips. "I still don't like doing this. It's not right."

Pipsqueak shrugged. "Well, if you feel like going after deer hare again, I'm game."

At this, The Duke pulled a face. "No, I really don't. We don't have what it takes to be hunters. That was always a Smellerbee thing."

"And Longshot was our second-best fisher, after Mama Marlin." Pipsqueak grunted and shook his head. "What I wouldn't give to have him and Bee along with us..."

"I think I'd even settle for Jet at this point," the younger Freedom Fighter admitted, straightening his helmet and casting his gaze to the ground. "He was passable at finding food. And if we hadn't been traveling barren planes, we might'a been able to get by on berries and nuts."

Pipsqueak shifted his weight, brought an arm up to rub the back of his head, tried to think of a response...but it was hard, whenever Jet popped up in their conversations. He'd known the man for years, and he'd always been a fantastic leader...but, after trying to flood Gaipan, risking the lives of civilians...it'd been like a slap to the face. A wake-up call. Pipsqueak and The Duke had gone along with the plan, figuring that, because Jet had thought through it all, it'd turn out okay. The Duke had been the only one to question it out of the entire group - he'd always been smart, a lot smarter than any other kid his age. In the face of that, remembering that Pipsqueak, personally, had followed Jet so blindly...it was shameful.

That's why they left. Partially because of all the tension Jet's presence carried along with it, partially because Pipsqueak needed to find himself again. Getting away from ho - from the forest was the best option he could figure. He'd go to Omashu, and he invited the others to come along...The Duke accepted, but Smellerbee and Longshot had their hearts set on Ba Sing Se, and Sneers was such a stubborn, thick-headed jerkbelly and refused to leave at all.

Omashu hadn't panned out. They'd spent most of the way there stopping at small towns, working odd jobs for a couple days so they could keep buying more food, more supplies - and then, on the way back, just wandering, no real specific goal in mind. Just the same thing - find a small town, do some work, get some food and move on. The last town they'd come across had been two weeks ago, and from there it was like everyone on the face of the earth just vanished. So it was kinda fortunate that they'd wound up here, where _maybe_ ten Water Tribe boats waited in the night, ready to be looted.

"Only enough to get by," Pipsqueak mumbled; stipulations set, The Duke nodded and pushed up to his feet. He scooped up the leather bag full of exploding seeds he'd set on the ground, tying it to his belt.

Turning to Pipsqueak, the younger Freedom Fighter beamed and said, "Just like old times, right?"

Pipsqueak chuckled, hauling himself upright. "Yeah. Just like it."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Three years ago_

They - they'd have to run out of troops at some point. Right? It was dumb, this many soldiers guarding a slave line. Pipsqueak wouldn't deny that he didn't know much about the Fire Nation's slaving protocols, but these guys were like roach mites crawling outta the woodwork - all over the damn place, more always appearing, even when you think you'd killed them all. Sweat slick and damp on his forehead and back, his breath hot and throat raw, Pipsqueak brought his log up to bare and brought it down on the hands of a soldier brandishing a sword. Under the solid _thunk_ of the weapon connecting, of the battle raging around them, the behemoth heard the subtle, wet snapping sound of bones breaking, and the man screamed; that was enough, that was all he could spare to do to him right now, he didn't even register the sword falling to the ground. All he could do was kick him out of the way, sending him tumbling into two of his war buddies before moving onto the next one.

"Ugh - I call Fire Nation bullshit on this!" Jet grunted, following Pipsqueak's train of thought as he grabbed a soldier under the arms with the hooks of his swords and hurled him into the ground. "Pipsqueak, duck!"

The giant didn't think, just do it, Jet had an idea - he crouched down, saw Jet charge him from the corner of his vision - he leapt, spun, Pipsqueak felt Jet plant a hand on his back, kicking a soldier that had been coming in from the left. Pipsqueak righted himself, brought his log up to bare, a glimmer of silver from the corner of his eye - he cried out, cold venom raked up his arm - spun, whacked the soldier on the side of his head with the log, something snapped and crunched and he crumpled in a heap -

Tired, exhausted, losing energy so fast - they'd been at this for too long, how long would Smellerbee take to free the slaves -

He spared a glance, eyes flicking in the direction of the line - realized that, that nobody remained, they were finished, they - he had to tell Jet -

"We're clear!" He bellowed, throwing an arm up over his head, gritting his teeth and hissing as his muscles screamed in protest. "Come on, guys!"

For a second - Jet glanced up at Pipsqueak, then to the place where the slave line had previously been located, and the giant saw a wicked grin curling across his face. "Alright! Freedom Fighters, fall back!"

Then - Smellerbee, erupting from between a pair of soldiers, holding a broken sword in one hand and her dagger in the other - she landed, hard, on one of their backs, burying the broken sword into his ribcage, her face alight with that vicious, bloodthirsty grin of hers, whenever lost to the heat of battle. She leapfrogged off the soldier, pivoted in midair, heading for Jet; he crouched down this time, and she rolled over him, lashing out with a crescent kick to another soldier's chest; she landed, leapt to her feet, slashed with the dagger - Pipsqueak grabbed another one by the head, throwing him hard into the ground - he landed on his neck, deflated like a balloon, and -

The ground between him and Smellerbee exploded - a bright pillar of flame, and, and she flew, landed hard - another burst, sizzling his skin, too close - he growled, backstepping, his toes and chest seared with razor-hot blisters - and, and, where was Smellerbee, where was Jet, where - argh, don't, don't lose track, you need to keep it together, and - the smoke cleared, and, he saw them - Jet, Smellerbee, both down, face-first on the ground, they'd been hit, they weren't moving - oh, Spirits, this had spiraled downhill so fast -

A piece of - shrapnel, something small and hot and metal, nicked Pipsqueak's forehead; he grunted, crouched down low - the mission, the mission, _screw_ the mission, it was over, done with, just - get them, pick them up, he thundered past and through fireballs, shockwaves, scooped Jet up under one arm, turn, turn, _turn_, too big to change directions so suddenly, skidded, tripped, landed hard on his side - dirt scuffing his skin, scraping it raw - and, and another burst of fire, white hot hot hot so

ground gone, felt the wind and

and

crashed into

scratchy jabbing brushing

canopy stretched overhead

couldn't

light gone

moon vanished and

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"_Smellerbee!_"

Pipsqueak sat bolt-upright, eyes wide - he scrambled up to his feet, where - head throbbed, ringing with dull, metallic pain - where had she _gone_? The bushes - he'd been blown clear to the bushes, and he saw Jet lying at his feet, blood streaming down the side of his face, matting his hair - and, and, he was breathing, he'd be alright for now, had to get back to the path, to save Smellerbee, to - twigs scratching his calves, his arms, entire body sore and stiff and sticky with blood, and - and -

- the path was clear.

He stopped short, breath catching in his chest. Nobody. There - no living people, anyone standing upright had left, leaving the dead behind. If it weren't for the bodies of Fire Nation troops sprawled all over the place, then he would have sworn that this wasn't the right place - but, no, bodies littered the trail, which had been stained black with lifeblood. Birds chirped and called and squeed at each other, the aroma of honey belying the massacre splayed out before him, and - and golden, liquid warm rays of sunlight filtered in through the canopy, momentarily blinding him, flecking the ground with bright, syrupy blotches.

No - no, no, no! Daytime? It couldn't be - he'd only been knocked out for a moment! He felt his chest tightening, the scent of syrup underlain by honey deceptive, whispering little lies as it covered up the rotten stench of burnt grass and brush, flesh and armor. Please let Bee be okay, please...

There - the corpse of the soldier with the broken sword stuck in his back, they'd been right near him before he'd gotten thrown into the bushes. Pipsqueak crossed over to the body, tried to position himself to where he'd been last night - but, it was hard to remember exactly, and - and Smellerbee wasn't _anywhere_ in sight, not even a - not even a -

"No body."

Pipsqueak whirled, reaching over for his log - his hands grabbed nothing, just air, he'd been holding it when he got exploded last night -

"Easy, big guy," Jet rasped, a renegade grin crooking onto his face. Face pale, blood dried in his hair, on his cheek, he kept one eye scrunched tight as he hobbled free of the brush, one hand clenched on his stomach. "It's only me."

"Jet - you - are you okay?" Pipsqueak hurried over to him, a frown creasing his face, and, and he _wasn't_, that was a dumb question, he was hurt something fierce. His leader had never moved so tenderly, had never been white-skinned like that, had never had such deep shadows under his eyes. The behemoth kneeled down and let Jet sling one arm over his shoulder; he clambered back upright, wrapping one massive arm around Jet's back and clamping his hand down on his side.

"Heh - been better, but I'm walking, at least." Jet shook his head, wincing as Pipsqueak righted himself. "What about you?"

"I'm fine," the giant mumbled, and - well, okay, couldn't be further from the truth there. The wound on his arm had been shallow, but it started to thrum with a dull, radiating, metallic ache, and his bones, joints, muscles - everything just _hurt_, and he was pretty sure he'd gotten a little burnt on his chest. Putting into words, though, compared to what Jet was feeling, to what - what _could_ be happening to Smellerbee... "Jet, I - whadda we do? I can't find her."

"Where did you see her last?" Jet shook his head and furrowed his brow. "I...I - gnh. Sorry, my head's not - "

"Shh. It's okay. Here, just stick close." Pipsqueak gulped, wishing, wishing that - oh, man, if only everything hadn't snowballed - he should'a done more, he was a tank, should'a been able to wipe the floor with all those Fire Nation goons! Should'a been able to save Jet and Smellerbee and got out with everyone's butts in one piece, should'a...he clenched his jaw, his boots scraping the dirt, Jet's footsteps light and weak and not like Jet at all, really. A breeze nipped at his cheek, his shoulder, and, here - yeah, this was about where she'd been when he and Jet had been thrown clear. He knelt again, and Jet freed himself from the giant's grasp, crouching forward with a throaty grunt.

"Okay. Okay, yeah, so..." Jet drew a deep breath and scrutinized the ground; his eyes had gone big and kinda unfocused, and, and, oh man, what if he had a concussion or something like that - should he take care of Jet now, or try to find Smellerbee in case she's hurt more, or...or _what_? He stunk at making decisions like these! His leader brushed a scuffed patch of dirt with his fingertips, his palm ghosting over the ground - first in a slow, swirling motion, before shifting up, outward, down the trail. At last, his arm fell to his side and he bowed his head. "They took her. The ground and grass here are...messed up, like...like a person was there...and, and they left the...corpses. Corpses of their buddies, and they wouldn't have taken just _one_. So they - cut. Cut their losses, took her because...out in the open, still. We were in the..."

He stumbled - started to pitch forward - Pipsqueak shot one arm out, caught Jet by the chest, and, and, _crap_, this was bad, very bad - had to, okay, Smellerbee was - was in the Spirits' hands now, that wasn't good but, but don't worry about her because if they took her she was probably still alive and she'd be able to get out of whatever situation she'd find herself in, Jet was here, Jet was _now_, Jet was the priority, just - okay, calm down, this isn't a decision you have to make 'cause it's already been made _for_ you. Pipsqueak flipped Jet over and laid him down onto his back, already working at the bandages strapped around his leader's boots, thick, clumsy fingers bumbling and missing the knot. "Jet, come on, stay with me...where's it hurt most?"

Jet's mouth twitched, a ghost of a grin, before fading away; he drew a sharp breath and murmured, "Everywhere, but I wouldn't complain if you plugged up the dam that just ruptured in my brain. I think I got some - some candle wax we can use to block it up with..."

Pipsqueak chuckled, even though his heart and mind hadn't stopped rushing, trying to find that imperceptible goal he hadn't even really figured out what it was yet. Jet was good at puttin' people in all sorts'a moods - ah, there, knot's undone! - and making the giant laugh despite how screwed up the situation was...well, it kept his mind from breakin' in two trying to figure out what to do next. He unwound Jet's boot and tied the bandage around his temples, being real careful to not cut off his circulation (thank the Spirits the others had him practice so he could learn just how tight was _too_ tight).

"Hey," Jet mumbled. "I have some cheap whiskey in my hip flask."

Pipsqueak grinned, meeting his leader's distant, dulled gaze for a moment before tearing his attention away, focusing as much attention as he could on the wound, because - seeing Jet looking so zonked out was...new. Uncomfortable. "Sorry, boss, but you ain't exactly in the best shape. There's a thing about drinking too much after blood loss, isn't there?"

This time Jet was the one to laugh, a fading, distant chortle that lost itself to the breeze. "No, goof. Your arm. Dis...dis...clean out that cut. Won't do any of us any...good if you're..." he coughed, grinned, and said, "I fucked up, didn't I...?"

Pipsqueak pursed his lips as he worked to unclip the flask from the teen's belt, brow furrowed. How do you respond to that without sounding like a jerk? Fancy talking hadn't ever been the giant's thing - he just didn't have the right words, and he couldn't pull together the ones he knew in a way that sounded, you know, _good_. As much as he wanted to pretty it up, though, the truth was the truth; he owed Jet too much to just up and lie, and not saying _anything_ would'a been worse. Besides - Jet wouldn't really mind the honesty. So, he took a deep breath, finally managed to free the flask, and met his friend's eyes, a grin wriggling across his face despite himself. "Yeah. You did. Not like I didn't help, though."

"Heh - I wish I had your clarity," Jet responded, his eyes sliding closed. "You did what you figured was right - you put the life of...that kid over the mission. It was my fault for figuring a mission like this would be - so simple. And look what it cost us."

"Hey...Smellerbee's gonna be alright," Pipsqueak whispered, unscrewing the flask's cap and overturning the contents over the cut in his arm - hissing, wincing at the freshened pain, red-hot needles jabbing his skin and muscle, and it probably wouldn't scar but it still _hurt_. Even though he said it - he just wished he could feel as confident as he sounded. Smellerbee was hard as nails, she could go into a fight outnumbered five to one and still come out on top. That was her element: backed into a corner, with the odds worked against her, when she could unleash and just kill and kill and kill without holding back. There wasn't any way to know how bad she'd been banged up, though, and...oh, Spirits, what were they gonna do...? "You know her better'n that. She's a tough cookie."

Jet's lip quirked again, and he murmured, "Yeah. Let's head home. You're driving. And don't forget my swords."

Pipsqueak snorted, grinning - but at the same time, something deep and heavy and thrumming tugged down at his throat, and, oh jeez, if he didn't start moving - focusing on bringing Jet back - he'd start to, to cry over how helpless he was in this mess. Heh. Stupid.

"Alright. Hang on, I'll go find 'em, and then we're outta here."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

"So, where do we go with this?" Pipsqueak whispered, glancing down to The Duke over the bulging sacks of jerky and fresh water and raw meat that just smelled _so good_. His mouth watered, and he had to keep licking his lips to keep himself from drooling. It was a nice bit of familiarity in this place that smelled so alien, of places he'd never been to before and probably wouldn't come back to again. Even though it wasn't unpleasant. The sloshing waves, the distant chirping of crickets...no denying, this place was nice, it's just that he'd never figured that he'd come to a place like this. He kept his footsteps light, 'cause they'd been lucky to get in and out of that one boat undetected, and blowing it now would be a swift kick to the chin.

Wouldn't be as bad as the screw-up from that night so long ago - but, well, if he hadn't made that mistake, he wouldn't have The Duke around, and having a buddy like that meant that any mistake made to get him was a blessing in disguise.

"I saw a cave set into the cliff," The Duke replied, grunting as he hefted his own sack of food up against his chest, redistributing its weight. "We'll stop just long enough to eat some jerky before we move on."

"Mmm." This time, Pipsqueak _did_ drool; while she wasn't no Skillet, Smellerbee's jerky had been scrumptious, and he wondered just how well the Water Tribe stacked up in comparison. He had a feeling that he'd stop caring as soon as he had it in hand, but there'd be plenty left over for later if he really wanted to make that comparison. "Alright, The Duke. Lead the way."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Sokka noticed, as they made their way towards the cave he couldn't quite see yet, that Toph bowed her head down low enough to almost obscure the wicked smirk on her face; if not for the cool, almost ice color of the moonlight casting the right shadows, he wouldn't have been able to tell right away. Seeing that smug, cocky grin opened a floodgate of body language; the way she clenched her tiny fists, the way her arms swung in tiny, but solid arcs, the way her tiny feet dug into the rock beneath them with an intense purpose. (A lot about Toph was tiny, he realized, although certainly not her attitude or ability.) Losing at Ba Sing Se had cramped her style, and now she had something to take it out on.

The teenaged Water Tribe warrior reached up behind his head, scratching his scalp beneath the short-cropped, stubbly hair framing his ponytail. "You've got that look on your face," he pointed out, keeping his voice at a whisper.

"What look? I don't have a look." The denial came back just as quiet and severely lacking in conviction; while the blind Earthbender managed to drop the smirk for a moment, it slashed her face again, her eyes narrowing. "I'm perfectly humbled right now."

"You've got that devilish grin thing going. You know - when something's going on that you know about that nobody else does 'cause of your bending." Sokka twirled the fingers of his free hand in the air and rolled his eyes. "What's going on?"

"I didn't realize it before...it was out of range, so I couldn't pick it up until a few seconds ago." She tossed her arms up and rested her hands on the tightly-woven bun of black hair sitting behind her head. She snorted, a small chuckle escaping from between her teeth. "That cave our thieves are escaping into? It's got a family of boar-q-pines living inside."

Sokka raised an eyebrow. "Well, on the one hand it means we don't have to deal with the thieves, really...but then again, I don't feel like messing with angry boar-q-pines, either."

"We'd lose all the jerky they're stealing if we don't step in somewhere."

"...I _do_ like meat," Sokka admitted, nodding his head and pursing his lower lip. He set his chin in the crook between his forefinger and thumb, a thoughtful frown decorating his jaw, before standing up straight; he felt his mouth curl up into a big, toothy smile. "How about we let the boar-q-pines soften up the thieves, and then we capture them while they're too weak to fight? And then we kill the boar-q-pines and use them for more meat? It's a no-lose situation!"

Toph grinned and delivered a love tap to Sokka's shoulder (again, and no gentler than she'd been before), causing the warrior to fall out of step as they walked; he gave a soft yowl of protest, punctuated by laughter. He ran his hand over the spot where Toph's knuckles had dug into his skin and winced; tiny she may have been, but she had a lot of power in those arms. He already felt sore, but that was okay...part of being Toph's friend involved being able to withstand the blows. "Nice, but it feels like spending all that time on the boat has dulled your edge. Appa's licked me harder than that."

Toph tossed her head back and laughed. "There's the meat-and-sarcasm Sokka I know."


	6. Book 2, Chapter 6

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book 2: Escaping Ba Sing Se**

**Chapter 6: The Creed: "Don't mess with skunk bears"**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-2-6-133827740

**SCENE DIVIDE**

The Duke didn't normally curse - of all the words in the world, those were the most brutish, the most basic, and generally the least descriptive, short of racial, religious and sexual slurs (though, ironically, they painted a pretty vivid picture of the person using them). It wasn't so much a sense of purity or innocence - growing up as a Freedom Fighter usually absolved you of that sorta thing - or a fear of getting scolded by the others; it was a pet peeve, because there were so many bigger and better words you could use in their stead.

Usually.

Sometimes there just wasn't enough time to formulate a proper response, something articulate or meaningful or deep or whatever - sometimes you just had to _go_, to move, and your brain superheated trying to survive, and in those cases even an impressive vocabulary turned to smoldering mush. So, The Duke dropped a verbal bombshell - one of Skillet's favorites, one so virulent that he didn't need to see Pipsqueak's face to know that he'd flinched. Because, of _course_ the cave they'd pick for their rest stop would have freaking _boar-q-pines_ living in it! A family of them - two the size of Fire Nation tanks, territorial and pissed and breath steaming hot on his back squealing tearing at his ears and and and he wanted to pee his pants so much right now, oh _spirits_!

Clinging to Pipsqueak's head, The Duke leaned forward as his friend surged through the guts of the cave, doubled-back towards the entrance which was, it felt so far away now, an eternity even though he ran to get there. With every thunderous footstep the behemoth took, and with the rumbling of the two monstrosities at their heels, (a cacophony of sharp, piercing, clattering hoof beats chaining together against the narrow, musty walls of the cave) it took all his strength to keep from falling off. Pipsqueak had both satchels of food scooped up into his arms, they'd worked too hard to just leave it behind, and even at full strength he wouldn't have been able to take down one boar-q-pine, let alone two, so - so The Duke had to do _something_!

"Put some distance between them and us!" The Duke called, leaning in close to Pipsqueak's ear. "They're gaining!"

"Can't you peg them with exploding seeds or somethin'?" Pipsqueak cried, not bothering to mask his presence, voice cracking; it thundered and rebounded off the narrow cave walls surrounding them, and if anyone wandered outside the docked boats, they'd be able to hear the giant. This did not bode well for the two former Freedom Fighters; while the help from a more experienced Water Tribe warrior would not go unappreciated, the aqua blue satchels decorated with circular, swirling patterns the giant carried would yield the reason why he and The Duke had sought shelter in the cave to begin with.

"Because I don't wanna risk getting us hurt, too! If we get out in the clear, we can hit the water - they won't follow us!" Despite the fact that his mind rushed, blurred, thoughts bleeding together, squirming into an indecipherable mishmush, The Duke felt an edge in his voice - a sharp clarity he _wished_ he possessed right now, but there wasn't anything, nothing coming to mind that he could successfully pin down, they just had to, had to _go_! "Exploding seeds'd make them angrier!"

"It might distract 'em long enough for us to make a break for it!" Pipsqueak huffed, clenching the fingers on one hand as he ran. He ducked down to avoid a low-hanging rock, skidded, and, there, the darkness giving way to quicksilver light, casting the bay in a beautiful radiance that The Duke could only glimpse at; Pipsqueak burst free of the cave's confines, the rocky shore of Chameleon Bay fencing them in. Grunting, staving off the ravenous, clawing hunger tearing at his stomach, The Duke squirmed as the giant altered his course and continued parallel to the cliff. It'd be risky, but the seeds were all they had at this point, the only thing that _might_ work, and he could hear Pipsqueak breathing, hard and heavy and raw and, and if The Duke didn't take the risk now, then they'd both be mulch - so, so, just snake your arm down, around, yes - there, the leather pouch, bulging and weighted, tied to his belt. No time to dig for a handful, just open it up and dump the whole thing - a cascade of seeds arcing downwards, landing hard on the faces of the boar-q-pines - for a second, The Duke could even see their snouts glistening in the moonlight - and, and a series of loud, bursting _clatter-pop!_s rose up, like fire crackers being set off, a spray of bright sparks erupting forward, and, and -

The beasts squealed, roared, snorted - and _charged_, the seeds hadn't done _anything_, he'd been right, it just pissed them off more, and even the wind howling against his face didn't keep it from getting hot, so hot, sweat percolating on his brow, and, and he cursed again, worse than the last time. Pipsqueak jumped - had to, what? Oh, yeah, a rough patch of ground, lumpy and hard and rocky and, and it jolted The Duke, his helmet bounced and launched - it didn't soar, it just fell, upturned - and, and the spike on top, it hit one of the boar-q-pines in the eye! It _squealroarsnort_ed again, spasmed, stumbled away for a second before regaining its footing. The helmet fell away, clattering to the ground, vanishing in the dust clouds kicked up by the monsters.

"The Duke, what happened?" Pipsqueak called, voice raw and booming and oh man, they'd be in soooo much trouble if they got caught - but even more if they didn't, it was a big lose-lose situation.

"It didn't work! Just run!"

Pipsqueak dropped his own vulgarity - which would shock The Duke later when he had the capacity for that sorta thing, because Pipsqueak never swore _ever_, and leaned forward even further, getting as much distance out of his sprint as he could. The smaller of the two imagined his friend's lungs burned and his stomach howling in protest, his muscles straining against the exertion. His style of fighting was big, slow, impenetrable - Jet had once compared him to one of the Fire Nation's tanks, an unstoppable behemoth impossible to throw off-balance. He had endurance, so long as he moved at his own pace. The boar-q-pines squealing at the fringes of his boots, their breath hot on The Duke's back, the cool night air burning, burning through his throat, the young former Freedom Fighter realized with a testicle-shriveling sensation that Pipsqueak wouldn't be able to keep this up.

So intent on escape, so absorbed in his friend's faltering stamina and so concerned with their safety, The Duke only realized the earth had erupted behind him seconds after it had happened; the sound of rock splitting and connecting with soft flesh struck his ears only after the fact, the vibrations working up through Pipsqueak's body. The giant stumbled, and threw his hands out, landing hard on his stomach; The Duke bounced free, finally losing his grip, the ground hard and solid and unyielding, his back and shoulders alight with raw fire, one of the food satchels rolling to a stop against his side. As he fell, a shimmering, glowing disk caught his gaze, arcing away from the fallen warriors while whipping at the air.

"Yes!" A triumphant cheer - the voice familiar to The Duke, but distantly, like hearing the notes of an old song one hasn't listened to in a few years. It lilted as the owner spoke; definitely male, and young - not a child, but it didn't bare the nicks and scars of a fully-grown warrior's. "Well, that's a little extra food to go around for everyone. Excellent Earthbending, if I do say so."

"Yeah, well. I'd say the same thing about your boomerang throw if I could see it." This voice much lighter and far more indifferent, but it wasn't so much how it was said; the word 'boomerang' caught his mind, setting the gears in motion. The Duke had only ever encountered one person who used that weapon, and combined with the voice, the picture flushed outward into existence. Tall, tan-skinned, wearing blue clothing, brown hair pulled back into a wolftail.

"Sokka!"

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Heart thumping in his chest, his breath short, Sokka reached one hand up into the sky and caught his boomerang, the impact dull in his palm. He relaxed his pose, the boar-q-pines - huge, spine-backed monstrosities with dripping snouts and vicious, curled tusks - no longer moving. But nearby - the people the boar-q-pines had been chasing...oh, jeez - there was _no_ way it could be those two. Not here, not now - not so close after Lake Laogai. Nothing short of otherworldly intervention could have brought this together, and if Sokka hadn't seen Spirits with his own eyes, he'd have been inclined to dismiss them as a possibility. (Stuck in Hei Bai's hand, rushing through the forest with leaves and branches whipping at his face, calling for Aang's help...manhandled, like a kid holding their doll - well, that had been an eye-opening, pants-wetting experience.)

The only way he knew was because of Pipsqueak - the goliath of a man had a unique frame and voice, and the log sheathed on his back served as a brutal, final proof that Sokka was indeed not imagining this screwed up scenario. Somehow, two more Freedom Fighters had wandered back into his life after Jet, Smellerbee and Longshot, and - well. He had his misgivings, 'cuz it wasn't like Sokka hadn't left their forest on the best terms with the group. Things with the three in Ba Sing Se probably only worked out so well because, A/ he wasn't like his sister and could see from point A to point B without things like grudges getting in the way and B/ the situation had been so crazy-out-of-their-hands that the forced cooperation was pretty much their only option. Jet had been brainwashed, and Appa had been on the line - things couldn't have gotten more dire than that.

Unfortunately, that same pressing need to cooperate wasn't present here, and Pipsqueak and...The Duke, that's who was with him, standing up and hailing Sokka with a hand raised up over his head...they could just (try to) fight the Water Tribe warrior and Toph, even though a very definite bacon-saving had just come to pass. It'd be entirely possible, and - okay, The Duke probably _wouldn't_ start anything, since he looked amiable enough. Of all the Freedom Fighters Sokka remembered, The Duke was the only one to have never generated some level of static with the Water Tribe teen, and maybe that would be enough to salvage this situation. Pipsqueak was the wild card.

"Man, that one's big and burly," Toph whispered, crossing her arms over her chest. "He could probably kick some serious Fire Nation tail."

"Yeah, I've seen it happen." Sokka nodded, pursing his lips.

"You know him?"

"We met once, before you joined the group. He was one of Jet's Freedom Fighters - he carries around a _log_ and uses it as a..."

Wait.

Sokka felt a grin crawling across his face like a caterpede; he took a quick look over to Toph and murmured, "I think repaying them for stealing our food will have to wait. I just got an idea." He approached the fallen warriors, Toph sticking to his rear, her fists clenched at her sides.

"I still think we should kick their teeth in," she grumbled. Sokka thrust his free hand up into the air, waving at The Duke and his enormous companion as they struggled to their feet.

"And I think you should keep patient," Sokka shot, crossing his arms over his chest. "This inspired me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"...Aren't you gonna tell me what it is?"

"Not yet," he teased, earning another punch to the shoulder. He laughed in spite of it. "Please! Business before pleasure, Lady Bei Fong. A person of your status ought to know."

She snorted, but even without looking at her, Sokka could hear the grin riding on her face alongside it. "Very well, Sir Sokka Water Tribe. Lead the way."

Even in the dark and at such a distance, Sokka could tell that The Duke was emaciated, his cheekbones accentuated under the silvered moonlight, most of the rest of his face cast into inky shadow. Still, the boy grinned - a giddy, childish smile that reminded Sokka of a certain twelve-year-old when he'd just come out of the iceberg. Whether it came from relief at seeing an old face, or at escaping a narrow brush at being gored by a boar-q-pine, Sokka planned to capitalize on the situation.

His boots scraping against the rough stone ground, Toph's bare feet padding behind him, Sokka came to a stop next to the two Freedom Fighters. Pipsqueak managed to climb up to his feet, brushing off his vest and pants, towering over the Water Tribe warrior and his Earthbending companion, chest heaving, an appreciative smile carved onto his broad face.

"Sokka," Pipsqueak said, extending a hand roughly the size of a side of ham. "Thanks fer the save."

Okay - this was very much a compromising situation. He gauged the Freedom Fighter as subtly as possible; the smile looked earnest, and Pipsqueak himself appeared to have seen better days. Sokka had seen the strained appearance of many a world traveler that simply had no idea how to get by in the wilderness, and it appeared as if these two had gotten by on luck more than anything else. Still, despite his famished appearance, Pipsqueak had girth and enough strength to crush Sokka's hand as if it were a plum...but if the idea the smaller warrior had could come to fruition, the flower needed to start blooming somewhere. He accepted Pipsqueak's hand, the older man's fingers enclosing Sokka's hand fully up to the wrist. "No problem," Sokka replied. "I hope this makes up for me trapping you and Smellerbee in those Fire Nation cages."

Pipsqueak paused, eyes going wide, boring into Sokka's - and, and, oh _man_, this was it, he'd have to spend the next two months nursing a broken hand...but, no. To Sokka's relief, Pipsqueak loosened his grip and heaved a deep, booming, nigh-thunderous guffaw, making his ear drums echo and rebound and thrum - a sound the Water Tribe warrior hadn't heard in almost a season by this point, and one which he found infectious enough to cause a relieved grin to spread on his face, to get The Duke and Toph laughing as well, and Sokka chuckled despite himself.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Toph was a new addition to the Avatar's traveling party; she hadn't been there when Aang and the others stopped by the forest, and...well, she made The Duke fidget.

He wasn't really sure _why_, because once they'd been introduced, and when he and Pipsqueak apologized for stealing the Water Tribe's food, it wasn't like she'd been confrontational or intimidating. A little bummed at first, yeah, and she'd openly admitted to being disappointed in not having more butt to kick aside from the boar-q-pines, but once they'd sat down and started chatting, that mood had disappeared. So it wasn't scared-fidgeting, and if it wasn't _that_, then it could only be nerves-fidgeting. But why? He couldn't figure it out, and if he wasn't so relieved at surviving the close brush with two cheesed-off boar-q-pines, the adrenaline rush fading and wearing down, then it'd probably irritate him.

Probably.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, he forcibly kept his eyes on Sokka as he paced back and forth in the space between themselves and the small, improvised grill he had set up, a thoughtful frown riding on his jaw, his brow furrowed. It was better than, than staring at _her_, how she leaned backwards on one elbow, legs splayed, the dirt caking the soles of her feet, a finger working away at her ear, because that made his heart jump and whistle and do things he hadn't really ever experienced before. The sound of water sloshing up against the sides of the boat would occasionally drown out the crackling fire and sizzling meat, but never for long.

Actual _food_. Cooked food, boar-q-pine meat, thick and crackling and poignant and tantalizing, grabbing him by the nose and leading him along, like one of those cartoon gag scrolls you'd read as a kid. His mouth started to water all over again, only this time the thought of eating meat had planted itself very firmly in reality, only minutes away and without having to be all stealthy to avoid getting caught, without the guilt pressing in on all sides even though absconding with the Water Tribe food had been out of necessity.

"So, let me get this straight," The Duke murmured, his helmet glistening on the rocky shore beside him, freshly cleaned of boar-q-pine blood and eye-goop. The cool nighttime air rain its fingers through his short-cropped, black hair, flush and stark against the heat still working out of his face, refreshing. "The Fire Nation managed to get past Ba Sing Se's walls?"

"Yeah," Sokka said, scowling. "The princess of the Fire Nation, Azula, disguised herself and managed to sneak inside. In the fight to save the city, Aang took a lightning bolt to the back; he fell into a coma, and we haven't gotten him to wake up."

The Duke took a moment to chew on this information (as well as the greens Sokka had provided for himself and Pipsqueak; while lacking in flavor, they at least slaked the craving for something heavier, like bread, or the cooking, pending, numptuous meat). He frowned, gaze drifting towards the distant horizon - towards the shifting, glittering surface of the ocean.

"Omashu fell, too," he murmured. "We were supposed to go there - make new lives for ourselves. After the...after Jet flooded Gaipan...we kinda lost hope in him. We left the forest, left the Freedom Fighters, but by the time we arrived, Fire Nation flags hung from the walls surrounding the city."

Sokka snapped his fingers. "Did you see a statue of Fire Lord Ozai being built?"

"No - we didn't get very close." The Duke hiked his brows and glanced back over to Sokka. "You were there too?"

"We had to try and find Aang an Earthbending teacher. He's friends with King Bumi, and...well, things didn't work out as well as they could have."

The Duke sighed. "That's the story of our life right now. We've been going from one village to the next ever since, working odd jobs to get by; the Fire Nation was never that far behind us, though, so we kept running."

"Eventually, we hoped to get to Ba Sing Se ourselves," Pipsqueak added, slurping down a mouthful of the dried greens. "Longshot and Smellerbee were on their way there, last we checked - we figured we'd try to hook up. Sorta reunite the old gang. It wasn't like we could crawl back to the forest with our tails tucked between our legs."

"We wouldn't have been welcome there, anyway," The Duke murmured, leaning forward and prodding at the remainder of his greens with his chopsticks. "It's probably for the better that it worked out this way."

"Why can't you go back to the forest?" Toph asked, her voice light - conversational. The Duke could hear the faintest traces of indecision riding on her voice...but why, he couldn't tell, and rather than agonize himself over it (and so he could keep up the flow of the conversation), he opted to ignore it for the time being.

Taking a deep breath through his nose - savoring the scent of fresh, cooking food - The Duke glanced over to Sokka and asked, "Do you remember the entire Core group of Freedom Fighters?"

"Mostly. I know there were six of you, but I can only remember five."

"Sneers is the last one." The Duke sighed. "He never spoke that much around you and he didn't go on a lot of missions with Jet. After - after Jet...blew up the dam, tried to kill all those people...we kind of had a falling out in the Core Group."

Sokka nodded, a slow, solemn motion that didn't quite feel right to The Duke - as if Sokka were already privy to that information, or at least part of it. He wanted to examine why, because between him and Toph, something was definitely up, but...the story just poured out now, spilling forth like a...a broken dam, and he couldn't think of a way to plug it up again.

"After you guys left, us, Smellerbee and Longshot decided that the Freedom Fighters had lost sight of their original purpose. We decided we were ready for new lives without fighting, without the Fire Nation, and only met with discord agreeing on where we ought to go; we wanted to head to Omashu, which was a faster journey, while they preferred trekking to Ba Sing Se under the assumption that the Fire Nation wouldn't be able to invade it."

He drew another breath. Sokka moved over to the grill of meat and started to withdraw the contents with a long, razor-tipped fork, glancing occasionally at The Duke to signify that he was still paying attention. He began dicing the meat and dividing it into four bowls half-full of broth and noodles.

"Jet and Sneers were the only two who thought the Freedom Fighters ought to continue as it stood, but their ideals of what to do next were very different." The Duke shook his head. "They fought - a long, loud, brutal fight that ended with Sneers having a broken nose and Jet getting bruised up. We don't know where Jet went after that, but we didn't really have the chance to find out. Sneers took over as leader of the Hong Ye Freedom Fighters, and told us all to 'get the hell out and to take Jet's old ways with us'. We haven't bothered going back since."

"You're pretty articulate for a kid," Toph noted, leaning back on her hands and crooking her head to one side. "What are you - six?"

"Eight and two seasons." The answer came back oozing defiance (_because of the nerves, there wasn't any other explanation_), and Toph smirked.

"So." Sokka - setting one bowl in front of each warrior and taking the last for himself - sat cross-legged next to Toph, his voice prodding, poking for some sort of answer. "Does that mean you guys wouldn't mind helping us fight the Fire Nation?"

Pipsqueak picked up his bowl, his massive hands enveloping most of the wooden kitchenware, blowing away the steam rising up from the contents. He cast a glance over to The Duke, hiking an eyebrow.

The younger ex-Freedom Fighter had spent enough time around Longshot to understand an unspoken question when he saw one; was a non-combatant life really cut out for them? Did they want to turn their back on what had been their ideal fresh start, to try again and see what happened? It wasn't like they were fighting for Jet's cause, unquestionably whacking Fire Nation thugs and wiping out innocent people.

The Duke cast a glance down to his side - to his helmet, to the emptied sack of exploding seeds, to his pike with the glistening, curved blade and the worn, red handle. He carried all this stuff out of nostalgia or self-defense, and hadn't ever expected to actually seriously use them again...but...he glanced back up to Pipsqueak and nodded.

The giant shrugged and started fishing around in his bowl with his chopsticks. "Sure, why not? A peaceful life hasn't worked out for us anyway, right, The Duke?"

The Duke felt himself wilt a little on the inside, but gave a small nod. Verbally acknowledging it put too much weight into the subject. "I don't think I can fight as furiously as Jet would have had me do, but...sure."

Pipsqueak grunted in satisfaction - The Duke saw his eyes roll into the back of his head, and, okay, enough _talking_, his belly said, time to _eat_. He reached for the chopsticks in his lap and snapped them apart in his free hand (a talent many a Freedom Fighter had been jealous of) and dipped them into the soup, pinching a chunk of meat between them and popping it into his mouth.

Ohhhh, _man_. Succulent, mouth-watering, juicy - a little gamey, but it still had enough chew to it, the taste of pork splashing over his tongue, and, and, and. The last time he'd tasted something _this_ satisfying had been that Ba Sing Se curry that was meant for Pipsqueak. His tastebuds danced, sang, a heavenly choir of delectable, meaty win.

"Mmmm."

Toph chuckled and smirked. "Snoozles, I think you have two new fans."

The Duke grinned as Sokka crooked his head and crossed his arms over his chest, letting a grin play across his face. "What can I say? I can be a pretty good cook."

The young ex-Freedom Fighter would beg to differ (he was nothing compared to Skillet or even Spatula), but hey, he was feeding them.

Silence settled over the quartet as they sunk into eating euphoria; The Duke had forgotten what it was like to actually be full, your belly heavy and head bordering on drowsiness, a fog tugging down over your eyes...

"So, you were in Ba Sing Se," Pipsqueak said, breaking the reverie with a wide grin. "I've heard it's a big place, but didja run into Bee and Longshot by chance?"

A strange, conflicted expression flitted across both Sokka and Toph's faces, only briefly, but the motions were obvious enough for The Duke to see - the latter grimacing while the former seemed to sag just a bit. It was enough to raise the red flag The Duke had been trying to turn his back to, and he suddenly felt himself sitting up a lot straighter.

"What happened?" He asked, voice low and sharp. Sokka's eyes drifted up to meet his - so sad, those blue eyes, so tired, and The Duke's fingertips became numb from looking at them. He couldn't feel the rough, hot wooden bowl cupped in his hands, or smell the freshly-cooked meat or the salty spray of the ocean - only Sokka's gaze seemed to register.

"We crossed paths with them...and Jet. According to Smellerbee, he'd gone with them when they left for Ba Sing Se; I don't know the specifics, but Jet got caught up with the Dai Li, a local police force in Ba Sing Se that worked to keep the war hushed up." Sokka looked away. "Things got...out of control. The Dai Li brainwashed him, sent him to try and lead us out of the city on a wild Appa chase, but Smellerbee and Longshot bumped into us and we were able to find out the truth. He was killed by their leader, Long Feng, while we were fighting to save Appa from them. I'm sorry."

Perhaps it was because part of him suspected it when Sokka and Toph had started acting dodgy...or perhaps it was because The Duke figured Jet had too much fire in him for his own good (which was one hell of an irony), but hearing it in words only made the world feel a little heavier around him, bringing down the same verbal weight Pipsqueak had earlier. Jet may have been...well, a jerk, yeah, kinda, and he might have let his hate for the Fire Nation cloud his judgment to the point where bystanders were an acceptable casualty to see their enemy purged...but, he had still been their leader, their friend, a surrogate father figure for The Duke, and...and, oh man. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; maybe once it sunk in, the blow would have more impact, but...

"It's okay - I'm sure you did everything you could to help him." The Duke kept his voice steady, but his breath felt tight in his chest, as if someone had wrapped their hand around his lungs and had begun squeezing. He opened his eyes and glanced at Pipsqueak; the giant had deflated somewhat, sitting hunched over his bowl with sorrow etched onto his face, his eyes focusing on nothing despite being turned to the ground below them. There were so many things he wanted to ask - had Jet gone out fighting? Had he done good in his last moments? Had he made up for his mistakes...? But, but, none of them could come to surface, there were too many thoughts to chase, like, like lightning bugs buzzing around in a jar, and, and there was only _one_ that really managed to struggle up through the cacophony, one that _needed_ asking. Without looking at Sokka, The Duke murmured, "What about...what about Smellerbee and Longshot?"

Sokka drew a slow breath. "We don't know what happened to the others. They didn't want to come with us...they stayed behind with Jet instead. When we left them, they were still alive - but the Dai Li collapsed the tunnels by the time we came back. I don't know if they made it out in time."

This seemed to shake Pipsqueak out of his trance; he brought his beady gaze up to Sokka and said, "So Longshot an' Bee are...?"

"I'm sorry," the young warrior said again, his voice hushed. "We had to save Appa, and they wouldn't leave Jet's side."

The chill of the air became sharp and raw, and the world pulsated, shuddering down The Duke's spine and in the depths of his ears; he only distantly felt the bowl leave his hands, the broth and meat splattered against the ground, glistening in the moonlight. This time, the news hit home, his eyes stinging, his mouth curling down into a deep frown he couldn't, couldn't _stop_ or control; he reached over and grabbed Pipsqueak's arm, because even sitting down, it felt like the ground itself would tilt and buck him off, sending him tumbling into some bone-crushing abyss. Memory flitted through The Duke's mind - pictures of a cold spring night much like this one, the shackles around his wrists and ankles heavy, thoughts of his ill mother haunting him - then the ground, rough on the skin of his hands, cutting into his palms - a searing heat from above, a man yelling - and then Pipsqueak, landing hard on the ground, followed by Smellerbee - so mothering, despite her boyish appearance, that The Duke could tell she was a girl, he could tell...

"The Duke," Pipsqueak murmured, resting a hand on the boy's head. The Duke sniffled and glanced up at Pipsqueak, vision blurred, ears burning red; the giant fixed his friend with a comforting grin. "It'll be okay. Smellerbee an' Longshot are survivors."

The Duke nodded, keeping his mouth pressed shut; he knew that if his lips parted, his breath would hitch and he'd start to cry in earnest.

"We have a duty to Aang now - we gotta do what we can to stop the war," he continued, his baritone voice soothing The Duke's sorrow. "One day - when we've won - we'll go lookin' for 'em, okay?"

Another meager nod, and his vision blurred again; Pipsqueak drew The Duke up into an engulfing hug, swallowed by his massive arms, pressing The Duke's face into his shoulder. The giant's warmth flooded the boy, protecting him, trying to flush away reality - but it made the pain more real, too, grounding him and driving the fact home that he would never see Jet again, and the same was likely true for the wild-haired girl that had saved his life three years previously and the archer who, though silent, had immense presence in the Freedom Fighters.

Something wet and warm landed on the back of his ear; he craned his neck and saw tiny rivulets running down Pipsqueak's face. "It'll be okay, The Duke," he whispered. "I promise."

The Duke felt his breath catching - his lips parting - he threw his arms around Pipsqueak's neck and buried his face in the giant's shoulder again in an attempt to mask the sound of his crying before it could happen, because he knew now that he'd started, it would keep flowing and flowing, surging forward and outward and (_overflowing_), and, and, and, he didn't think he could ever run out...

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Elsewhere_

"I think I like them enough to name them," Smellerbee said, motioning to the two ostrich horses, who had fallen asleep next to each other with their beaks tucked under their wings. She reached over to the nearest one and stroked its neck, her fingers running between the soft down and a smile flitted across her face. "They've grown on me."

Longshot acknowledged the statement with a distant nod, keeping his focus on the map splayed out in front of him. With night set in, the only light came from the fire set up in the center of their campsite, casting a flickering, orange glow across the worn, folded parchment before him. They'd had to stop in the middle of the planes - no cover aside from the single, threadbare tree he leaned back against, so the firelight stretched its fingers out, away, into the seeping darkness before being swallowed by it completely. Being out in the open like this...he hated it. Even up to this point, he'd caught himself glancing over his shoulder - as if trying to sniff out an enemy, a Dai Li agent, tailing them, following them only so he could get the jump and drag them back to Ba Sing Se. An enemy that wasn't there, that wouldn't _be_ there, because beyond the walls of the city, they couldn't care less of what happened.

He lowered the brim of his hat just enough to obscure Smellerbee; looking at her in isolation, as they had been over the past two days, had been getting increasingly difficult. Even with the fire casting shadows on her face, and the crescent moon glistening overhead to accentuate them, just making eye-contact had become a...a chore, a task. His head became heavy and his vision would double, as if the very thought physically repelled him.

Without the pressing need to escape Ba Sing Se weighing on his shoulders, other issues had risen up in Longshot's mind, and he was surprised how the bulk of it came to rest on Smellerbee. The first of these problems came from a sudden lack of self-confidence; he could hit a moving target the size of a fist with frightening accuracy (as he had done several times under Lake Laogai's surface, sniping the gloves of the Dai Li as they flew through the air), yet saving his leader from death - and saving himself and Smellerbee from that insufferable prison - proved to be an impossible target, like puncturing a ray of light with an arrow, or using a bow that had not been strung.

The second issue took form in his choice to speak - to finalize Aang's departure from the catacombs.

_"Go. We'll take care of him. He's our leader."_

Longshot had sworn to himself long ago that he would never speak again; words had lost their power, their substance, in the face of what had happened to his home. Despite his vow, though, he did speak, verbalizing himself only when spoken word regained its missing weight; telling the Avatar's group to run - find Appa and escape while they still could - felt like a mistake, like he had condemned Jet to death by allowing the words to flutter away (like the crimson leaves of Hong Ye, disappearing to the earthen floor so far below).

Third, and most devastating of all: his lack of faith in Smellerbee. She had promised - _promised!_ - that the two would escape Lake Laogai together. The moment circumstances spiraled out of control - the moment it looked like that vow would go unfulfilled, just as his vow to remain silent had - he felt...abandoned. Betrayed, as if Smellerbee had defied her word intentionally. As if she hadn't been caught up in the chaos just like he had.

Then the audacity, on his part, to believe that she couldn't come back from that brink, to complete him again! Shame was indeed a wicked mistress, one he had endured multiple times in the past but rarely at this magnitude. As a matter of fact, only on one other occasion in his lifetime did regret hound him so persistently, like a howling, pungent hogmonkey clinging to his shoulders that refused to let go.

A rift had torn the earth between them - one that swallowed all the things that made the pair work so well together. The worst part about it was that Smellerbee knew it was there too; she could sense it just as well as Longshot, and she probably knew that he knew, too. Perhaps she didn't know what spurned it, but she was at least aware of its existence.

"I mean - maybe we shouldn't do that in case we decide to get rid of them." The addendum broke through Longshot's train of thought, making him realize that in focusing on the map, he had really lost focus on his surroundings altogether. Her voice carried a strange, unfamiliar awkwardness to it; that action, the warble and stutter, her hesitant tone...Longshot's eyes shot wide open and he had to clench his jaw to keep it from going slack. The exact scope of the chasm that yawned between him and her and her and him still couldn't be determined, but this one-sided conversation gave him a general idea.

She was trying to douse the awkwardness by filling his silence.

"Still - if we did name them, we would need to give them Freedom Fighter names, I think," she continued when he failed once again to acknowledge her, faltering. "You know, because we're restarting the group, and all. It's just a matter of coming up with good names, not sappy ones."

Longshot tried to bring his gaze up to Smellerbee, to tell her that he agreed...but the invisible weight settled on his neck, and he felt his eyes scrunching shut. He cursed, silently, before rolling up the map and clambering to his feet. He turned, stretched, and started heading towards the tent set up a few meters away, avoiding looking in Smellerbee's direction.

"Longshot, don't ignore me."

The mute archer froze, his head crooked to one side; he heard the ground crunching under Smellerbee's feet as the swordswoman stood up, crossing the dirt and grass, closing the distance between them. He didn't - couldn't move, his body frozen in stone, even as she came so close behind him that he could feel the warmth cast from her body; her breath came out in hot wisps that lighted against the nape of his neck before fading into the cool spring night, making him shudder.

"Something happened," she whispered, her hoarse voice hushed, but powerful - loud enough to deafen, it felt. One of her hands came to rest on his shoulder, long, thin fingers covering the ball of the joint and ghosting over the fabric. "I don't know what, but we aren't going about solving it the right way. We've got a long trip ahead of us and I don't think we'll survive if we've got this - this wall between us."

Longshot drew a deep breath and felt his shoulders heave - not much. Just the slightest bit, but it was enough to make Smellerbee withdraw her hand quickly - as if stung by a buzzard wasp. "It's - it's something I did?"

The archer sighed, shrugged, and tried - oh Spirits knew how he tried - to look at her, to see her, but gravity won this small-yet-enormous battle. He looked up at the stars instead, trying to think of something - something to say, to tell her, to abate her of her concern and confusion, but...but, nothing, his mind stuttered and popped and hissed, white noise. Sometimes, even the heft of unspoken sentiment isn't enough to make up the difference where words fail.

"Hmph. Jerk," she grumbled, not bothering to hide the hurt in her voice. "I thought we were closer than this, Longshot! I thought we were in it together - no matter what?"

He shook his head; he wasn't so sure of that, not anymore. Things had just...they'd gone nuts, they'd lost control and still hadn't managed to take it back.

Smellerbee made a noise that sounded startlingly like an infuriated cat squirrel, and Longshot could tell without looking that she'd bunched her shoulders up and her hair stood on end. "What do you mean, 'you're not sure anymore?' You - you _idiot_! If that's the case, then why did you agree that we needed to intervene with Jet in Ba Sing Se? If that's the case, why did you fight after Jet died?" Her voice became shrill, her fury aimless and unmasked, and Longshot winced, his mouth curling into a frown. "If that's the fucking _case_, Longshot, then why did you bother resuscitatin' me in the first place?"

What - what to say, what to solve this problem, it wasn't her _fault_ that she'd almost drowned, but, but how _dare_ she have left him alone, no Jet, no Smellerbee, no Pipsqueak or The Duke or Sneers or Skillet, nobody, just a mute archer with only himself to turn to! Family in the face of nothing else - that was part of the Creed, and even _after_ they'd left Hong Ye it carried the same power, the pure, undeniable truth, but...but what if that family, the one unbound by blood, what if that vanished, too? Pried away from him, leaving him stripped bare with only himself, and he couldn't constitute a whole family with no one else to turn to. Think, think, try to bring some resolution and peace to her, to bridge the gap, to, to, to -

Smellerbee's hand tightened on his shoulder, fingers digging into his skin, making his bones click; she whirled him around, the air whistling against his face, and, and, white round lumpy ridged _rushing right for him_ -

His cheek exploded with heat and throbbing and ow, little jolts of lightning scrawling on, under, through his skin, his cheek bone alight with fire. It wasn't the first time she had ever hit him; sometimes, if he did something that upset her (rare as the occasion stood and not wholly undeserved), he'd find himself on the receiving end of a good sock; when Smellerbee laughed - a throaty, joyful sound that betrayed the fact that she was a child beneath that war paint, after all - she would often lash out and hit whoever sat nearby as a gesture of kinship, and as Longshot often made it a point to sit beside her, he often found a mirthful night ending with a tender arm. And when she was younger - when _they_ were younger - sometimes they'd break down into small bouts of fisticuffs, either for play or because they needed to settle an argument and she, ironically being more verbose, lacked the proper articulation to make her point without swinging a tiny, grime-coated fist.

Each wallop contained a little spark of memory and warmth; this time, though, Longshot felt an unusual rage overflowing inside him. He stumbled back, catching himself before he could fall; he brought one hand up to his cheek, and it felt warm and sticky (_dry, though, no blood_) and hot and, and, an _intrusion_, a violation of the status quo. In his shock, his anger, he finally managed to make eye contact with the girl; the instant he did, though, he knew, deep in his heart, that he'd made a mistake in doing so now.

She could see the fury in his eyes, the quick burst of fire directed at her, at _her_, the only person in the world who could understand him so easily; beady eyes bordered by mascara shrunk, flickered, but she didn't tear her gaze from his. Her mouth curled into a frown so deep that the twin sets of crimson war paint vanished beneath the unruly strands of her fringe; teeth bared, eyes set into a narrow glower, Smellerbee met Longshot's burning anger with the blistering heat that made her who she was, that turned her into a vicious, wicked animal on the battlefield and had forged her brash personality.

"I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but you're insane if you think I'm lettin' you sulk like this." Bee spoke only in whispers now, each word, each syllable a ghost rushing through Longshot's torso and causing his heart to ache, his ears to flush, his cheek to throb. "That's why I think it's something to do with me, because you never _not_ tell me what's wrong. Longshot, what did I do that got you so wound up?"

The archer drew a slow, deep breath and, and, he wanted to, to shout, to yell at her for punching him, she hadn't needed to resort to something so carnal, but - no, calm down, don't sink down to the same level, you've never had to throw a serious punch in your life, and don't do it now. He relaxed his pose, crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the pulsating sting in his cheek, and fixed Smellerbee with a solemn gaze; the young swordswoman scoffed and finally looked away, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring sidewaysedly at their campfire. It wasn't her; it was a problem he had to work out with himself.

"Okay - something wrong with you, then. Either way, it doesn't make a difference." She sighed and let her arms drop, fists clenched. "Look, I'm sorry I hit you. It's okay that you've got something bothering you...but don't take it out on me, okay?"

Longshot felt his brow sagging, his body quivering as if made of jelly - ready to collapse under its own weight. Putting it like that - oh, Spirits, he hadn't even _thought_ of it like that, and, and, her perspective gained another ice-cold layer of depth to it, and he was sorry for ignoring her, he should have been paying more attention, he -

Smellerbee turned away from him entirely, craning her head back so she could look at the stars. Roles now reversed, Longshot watched the swordswoman's hair bob as she spoke, a gentle breeze plucking through her thick mop. "I'll always be there for you, Longshot," she murmured, her voice rising up to greet the stars. "It's been that way for the past six years, and I don't plan on letting it change in the future. When you've got your issues sorted out, you can always come talk to me about them, okay? I promise."

The archer could do little more than nod, but already the familiar weight of guilt had begun setting in again, now that the flames of rage had been quenched. Despite the cool of night, the breeze caressing his face and soothing his cheek, the scent of the plains and the more musky odor of the ostrich horses filled the air, clogging their silence, suffocating them. Awkwardly, wordlessly - verbally and otherwise - He turned and ducked into the tent for the night, the leather flaps fluttering shut behind him, blocking out the fire and engulfing him in darkness.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Chameleon Bay_

Sokka stood on the deck of the boat, his elbows propped up on the railing so he could lean back without falling over. Clouds had started to settle in, obscuring the stars...but the moon, _that_ moon, _her_, it pierced the veil, refusing to hide, as if her will was too strong for anything else. It had to have been; she'd been such a powerful, yet gentle person in life, and it wouldn't surprise him if that part of her lived on even now.

"Well, at least I know what I'm doing now." He murmured, exhaustion seeping in behind his eyes, his eyelids threatening to slide shut and not open again for days on end. The night's events - the rushed, harried fight against the boar-q-pines, the utter mind-blow of encountering two more Freedom Fighters so soon after Lake Laogai, of telling them about their former leader's death...they weighed him down, just like the circumstances surrounding Aang, and whether or not the war could still be won without him...he was just so _tired_, and sleep would be a welcome departure from this stuffy, angsty norm he'd had to build around himself. He _hated_ angst. "All that's left is to bring the idea to the other warriors. I think they'll flow with it."

"Good to hear." Toph sidled up beside him, her bare feet padding against the wooden planks of the deck. She leaned forward on the rail beside him, her head bowed down. Sokka gave a sideways glance at her and realized that she was trying to mask the fact that she clutched the wooden rail hard enough to make her knuckles turn white, and opted to say nothing about it. "But you haven't even told me what it is yet and I feel like I'm missing out on an opportunity to make fun of you."

Sokka grinned, but it felt empty - he hated it, being so somber wasn't good for him, just like Toph had said earlier. "It's a great idea, if I do say so myself. Without the aid of Ba Sing Se's army, we're going to need to come up with some capable warriors to stand against the Fire Nation on Day of Black Sun."

"Duh."

"So, I figured - what better place to check than our own resume? We know a lot of fighters from our time traveling with Aang, a ton of which we met before you joined the group. Seeing Pipsqueak and The Duke reminded me about that, and I think it'll be the next big step in our invasion plan." Sokka kicked one leg back and thunked the toe of his boot against the deck, crooking one eyebrow at the ocean spanning out ahead of them. "We'll have to do a little searching - I'm not entirely sure how we'll go about it just yet - but if we look up some of those people and enlist 'em, then we'll be able to make our own hodge-podge army. I figure we could try to hunt down guys like The Boulder, the Swampbenders, Haru and his dad - "

"Who?"

"Sorry." Sokka brought one hand to the back of his head and rubbed it, fixing her with a sheepish grin (one he realized, too late, that she couldn't see). "But Pipsqueak and The Duke are just two of the people we've met."

"Speaking of those two...?"

"Asleep." Sokka felt himself slumping, the smell of saltwater rising up to greet him. "They were pretty tired. Took Jet, Smellerbee and Longshot pretty hard, you know?"

"Yeah. I guess that whole group was pretty close. Almost like a family...which is weird, because it's not like they're...you know, related." Toph's voice fell an octave, and Sokka saw a frown creasing her face. "I...I don't know what it's like to lose somebody that close."

"I do." The older warrior drew a deep breath through his nose and let it out in a rush. "A while ago, when my mother died...but, it's so far in the past that it's hard to remember. Besides, it's thanks to the split Jet made that we have the start of our new invasion force. All we can do now is wait for the time to come and hope Aang wakes up before it happens."

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Two: Escaping Ba Sing Se**

**End**


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